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Secret Love 2Scars
*A/N: look to the description to summary and basics and part 1! *
Once Zuko blasted the metal bars to ashes Jet jumped through and they both took off running, a little clumsily at first for the Freedom Fighter. His mind was swirling and that blaze dancing above Zuko's skin was replaying itself over and over behind his eyes. He never thought it to be beautiful and mesmerizing before; he never even thought he would ever think that. But after that kiss that ignited its own fire in his heart everything changed in an instant. His stomach was a tangled mess and it felt like it was connected to the banished Fire Prince, tugging when he got too far away as they were sliding past corners. Jet knew ever since they had raided the captain's food bunker on the ferry together that there was something different about the scarred teen that he liked. Maybe it was his non-dominating confidence or the gallant way he carried himself as he walked with those lean legs. He didn't care wha
Harder To Breathe 5.0Chapter Five: You Want Somebody, Just Anybody to Lay Their Hands on Your Soul Tonight
"Mom?" I called into the dimly lit house after I knocked a few times on the locked door, just to be sure she wouldn't get frightened. I took my key form the doorknob and shut the door again. "Mom? You in here?" I asked, walking around the kitchen. The stove's light was on and I shut it off, going around the room and checking other mishaps that were bound to be present. The pictures on the fridge of my childhood made me pause for a moment, but before I got to thinking and becoming saddened I opened it to see if she put a pillow in there again. At least there wasn't anything out of the ordinary there. I sighed in relief, heading into the living room. That's where I saw her scrapbooking with a bunch of photos, paper and crafting tools spread out all over the floor. Currently she was cutting around the edges by a 4x6 with a special scissor that made wavy cuts. She hummed a song she use
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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