starfishwithwings.wordpress.com
A dance of words | because sometimes fish have wings
https://starfishwithwings.wordpress.com/poetry/a-dance-of-words
Because sometimes fish have wings. Poetry and other writing by tristan sparrow. In change and dreams. New Name, New Era. The ghosts behind us. The poem I should’ve written in Middle School. Who you will become. 4:30 am on Richmond Ave in February. A dance of words. Inserting new people into old memories 2. Inside the darkness of dinnertime. New people in old memories. Sitting on the floor. This is what I was afraid of. Untitled, Sophmore year. What it looks like. A bitter diatribe on sexism and silence.
starfishwithwings.wordpress.com
inserting new people into old memories 2 | because sometimes fish have wings
https://starfishwithwings.wordpress.com/poetry/inserting-new-people-into-old-memories-2
Because sometimes fish have wings. Poetry and other writing by tristan sparrow. In change and dreams. New Name, New Era. The ghosts behind us. The poem I should’ve written in Middle School. Who you will become. 4:30 am on Richmond Ave in February. A dance of words. Inserting new people into old memories 2. Inside the darkness of dinnertime. New people in old memories. Sitting on the floor. This is what I was afraid of. Untitled, Sophmore year. What it looks like. A bitter diatribe on sexism and silence.
starfishwithwings.wordpress.com
Light Shattered | because sometimes fish have wings
https://starfishwithwings.wordpress.com/becoming-a-man/light-shattered
Because sometimes fish have wings. Poetry and other writing by tristan sparrow. In change and dreams. New Name, New Era. The ghosts behind us. The poem I should’ve written in Middle School. Who you will become. 4:30 am on Richmond Ave in February. A dance of words. Inserting new people into old memories 2. Inside the darkness of dinnertime. New people in old memories. Sitting on the floor. This is what I was afraid of. Untitled, Sophmore year. What it looks like. A bitter diatribe on sexism and silence.
starfishwithwings.wordpress.com
Hours | because sometimes fish have wings
https://starfishwithwings.wordpress.com/poetry/hours-2
Because sometimes fish have wings. Poetry and other writing by tristan sparrow. In change and dreams. New Name, New Era. The ghosts behind us. The poem I should’ve written in Middle School. Who you will become. 4:30 am on Richmond Ave in February. A dance of words. Inserting new people into old memories 2. Inside the darkness of dinnertime. New people in old memories. Sitting on the floor. This is what I was afraid of. Untitled, Sophmore year. What it looks like. A bitter diatribe on sexism and silence.
starfishwithwings.wordpress.com
4:30 am on Richmond Ave in February | because sometimes fish have wings
https://starfishwithwings.wordpress.com/poetry/430-am-on-richmond-ave-in-february
Because sometimes fish have wings. Poetry and other writing by tristan sparrow. In change and dreams. New Name, New Era. The ghosts behind us. The poem I should’ve written in Middle School. Who you will become. 4:30 am on Richmond Ave in February. A dance of words. Inserting new people into old memories 2. Inside the darkness of dinnertime. New people in old memories. Sitting on the floor. This is what I was afraid of. Untitled, Sophmore year. What it looks like. A bitter diatribe on sexism and silence.
starfishwithwings.wordpress.com
Who you will become | because sometimes fish have wings
https://starfishwithwings.wordpress.com/becoming-a-man/who-you-will-become
Because sometimes fish have wings. Poetry and other writing by tristan sparrow. In change and dreams. New Name, New Era. The ghosts behind us. The poem I should’ve written in Middle School. Who you will become. 4:30 am on Richmond Ave in February. A dance of words. Inserting new people into old memories 2. Inside the darkness of dinnertime. New people in old memories. Sitting on the floor. This is what I was afraid of. Untitled, Sophmore year. What it looks like. A bitter diatribe on sexism and silence.
starfishwithwings.wordpress.com
Becoming a Man | because sometimes fish have wings
https://starfishwithwings.wordpress.com/becoming-a-man
Because sometimes fish have wings. Poetry and other writing by tristan sparrow. In change and dreams. New Name, New Era. The ghosts behind us. The poem I should’ve written in Middle School. Who you will become. 4:30 am on Richmond Ave in February. A dance of words. Inserting new people into old memories 2. Inside the darkness of dinnertime. New people in old memories. Sitting on the floor. This is what I was afraid of. Untitled, Sophmore year. What it looks like. A bitter diatribe on sexism and silence.
starfishwithwings.wordpress.com
Escape | because sometimes fish have wings
https://starfishwithwings.wordpress.com/poetry/escape
Because sometimes fish have wings. Poetry and other writing by tristan sparrow. In change and dreams. New Name, New Era. The ghosts behind us. The poem I should’ve written in Middle School. Who you will become. 4:30 am on Richmond Ave in February. A dance of words. Inserting new people into old memories 2. Inside the darkness of dinnertime. New people in old memories. Sitting on the floor. This is what I was afraid of. Untitled, Sophmore year. What it looks like. A bitter diatribe on sexism and silence.
starfishwithwings.wordpress.com
Transitions | because sometimes fish have wings
https://starfishwithwings.wordpress.com/becoming-a-man/transitions
Because sometimes fish have wings. Poetry and other writing by tristan sparrow. In change and dreams. New Name, New Era. The ghosts behind us. The poem I should’ve written in Middle School. Who you will become. 4:30 am on Richmond Ave in February. A dance of words. Inserting new people into old memories 2. Inside the darkness of dinnertime. New people in old memories. Sitting on the floor. This is what I was afraid of. Untitled, Sophmore year. What it looks like. A bitter diatribe on sexism and silence.
