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Querencia Press Submission
Querencia is going to be opening submissions for our unthemed Spring anthology soon, and I wanted to give Prosers the first chance to send me some work again. We accept poetry, fiction, cnf, & hybrid works. I will repost and like all entries. If you work is a good fit for Querencia, I will leave you a comment, so we can follow up with publishing info. I love work that centers on mental health, trauma examinations, feminism, BIPOC & lgbtqia+ experiences and rights, surrealism, and horror - but I'm willing to accept writing on any topic. If you want more info or background on Querencia check out our website!
Profile avatar image for Leighinthewild
Leighinthewild
• 18 reads

Social distancing

Self-isolation's a term that we’ve gotten used to in 2020

Stay away, stay home, stay stay, stay alone.

But the fact of the matter is that I’ve been self-isolating long before I was grown.

Tears on my pillowcase, teardrops on the bathroom floor, I’ve long known what it was like to be alone.

This doesn’t feel like anything new, somehow living through a pandemic feels like something I’ve already been through.

Lonely nights, the sound of your voice echoing through the house hasn’t been anything anew.

The next day you pretending, like I was ignorant, like the cover of the night covered your sins.

You’ve been my pandemic my whole life, you’ve cut me off from the outside world, and though I’ve tried to run with every sprint with every attempt you cut my limbs.

Self-isolate.

Stay at home.

It’s always been your way.

We could never stray.

Self-isolate

Stay at home

You’ve taken away my options.

Dear God, you are nothing but a toxin.

Pandemic's new for this century.

For me, it’s nothing but an old memory.

Phony lies telling me it’s safe outside.

But in reality, all it is is a graveside on a hillside on the eastside where in the end we all go topside.

See you think I’m weak and you can silence me with your disease.

But I will never let you preside.

You will never see my tears on the roadside, or cuts that I scrap by the bedside.

You will never know what you’ve done to me because if you know you affected me then that means I let you get to me.

You will ever only see my strong side with the phony smile and bright jides.

You will never see the way I cried or the parts of me that I’ve killed and left on the roadside, for vultures to divide and the cars to collide.

You will never know my contrite for you.

All I will ever do is be polite, never forthright with you.

See Ill I brush my teeth with the fluoride looking all bright with a cheesy chide to you.

But the truth is I’m only waiting for an off night with a landslide by the seaside with riptide to take you, in the night.

And when I'll watch you try to swim ashore with more empty promises for another chance to make things right and for another chance of a rewrite.

I will look at you and I will stamp denied.

Only then will I be able to collect the tears that I shed by daylight and grab the rawhide of my body parts and then after you are long gone ill set a fire and ignite them by the hearthside.

You my, pandemic will be gone, no part of you will be implied, then maybe I’ll take a joyride to your graveside with an invite.

Telling you to watch from below how I turned out alright.

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