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Poetry & Art

The First Rapture

A chord tugs inside their chests as they start to unravel. Bodies, filled with helium. Careless, explosive, expanding into the sky. But letting go was never a choice. As the chord is pulled tighter, tongue and cheek become something serious. They stretch, mere elastic ripping with each touch. Once they snap, chemicals escape once confined spaces, in sweet relief. Their shredded remains lay contently on the concrete. Uncertain of what is to come.

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by Olivia Orme

I am 23, lover of coffee, adventure, and literature. I have spent the majority of my life writing poetry, and chronicling my experiences with my Cerebral Palsy. I feel as though writing has not just been an outlet for me, but what I want to do with my life. Aside from poetry, I write short stories, have contributed to several blogs, and worked in the publishing industry. I aspire to write a children's book series someday. You can always spot me in something from anthropolgie, and chatting with everyone I meet.


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