Between Bruises & Blooms

A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.

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  • 4:00 A.M.

    At four in the morning, the babies sleep, the house belongs to silence, and Honey kneads the weight of the night out of a tired lap.

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  • The Kitten Who Stole My Sleep

    At four in the morning, a kitten wages affectionate war on every available finger before curling into the softness she was searching for.

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