Make Me an Angel

Allison Marie Conway

They tell you to make something of yourself and you want to want to try but you cannot imagine where to even start. Time has carved you out so deep you find yourself far behind yourself, following the shell. Make me into what? A bicycle to ride into the stars upon. A jewelry box dancer spinning in her felt lined box to some kind of sweet ballerina sadness. I don’t smile so please don’t ask. Cradle to cradle. Grave to grave. I want to offer you everything I have learned but I’m afraid it cannot last.

You will make connections not because they are really there but because you need them to be. The human mind constantly seeks to plug things into one another and make them fit. Make them dovetail into a story that can slide inside the veins. Divinity into tragedy and back again, the grains of the…

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