Quite Contrary
There is a fine
line between apathy and hope.
I fight
for better mileage
with us: too quickly
we lose inertia,
like a child
log-rolling without
a tall enough slope.
The crepe line flutters
in a breeze of conflict.
We flip between like finicky
cats flitting between two owners—
where we get the most attention
is where we curl up for a nap.
Losing Grip
I have stars
swirling in my
head and, maybe
it’s the trees but
I can’t seem to see
the way out.
All the thoughts I
bought and sold have
come back to haunt me.
They have grown,
expanded here until they take
up too much room—
infinite room.
My head is spinning.
I am too old
for this and too young.
Push, pull me
quietly, trust me, run
to me, run somewhere
else to reach me.
Underneath, I am much more
vulnerable than I seem.

Hannah Stuart is still trying to figure out just what you do with a BA in English. In her spare time she enjoys telling stories about people and places that don’t exist, yelling at the tiny hockey players that live inside her tv, and tweeting far too often.

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