Poetry,  Published Submissions

Dust, by Amelia Thomas

my mouth is filled with dust and i want to reclaim the new— i  


plead to be heard by the soot, by the particles that have nestled in


the crevice between my lips, the nook beside my throat, the walls 


of my lungs— i wish to reside in the aura illuminating from me, 


but only from me, to plunge my being into the soil of a new world, 


and flourish side by side with the cherry blossoms. to reach for the


stars and watch them prance along the scarred flesh of my 


forearms, inhaling and inhaling and exhaling and breathing the dust 


of who i used to be, who i refuse to be anymore.


a breaking light filters through my broken, shattered ribs 



and casts shadows down my middle, shadows across my 


bones— the shimmer catches the eye of a raven, sleek 


and black, and pure but black as she pecks at my liver, 


the vulnerability.


plucking feathers from her own hide and placing them

upon the fleshy yellow spots, the gashes and the gnaws. 


a memorial to my ashes of the past.


and i build from the ashes, a molehill to a mountain range, 


a wary way is sure and silent but pays off in great rewards 


and the dust that weighs like shackles on my wrists, 


staking me to the ground, round in baked blood, will build 


me an army in time. my mouth is filled with dust and i


will reclaim the new—

– break my insides open and spill them on the sand

– Amelia Thomas

Amelia Thomas is a high school sophomore at the Orange County School of the Arts in the Creative Writing Conservatory. She enjoys listening to music while reading. She lives and writes on the Southern California coast.