Corresponding with Ghosts

Pluck the pages

from my seventh grade diary,

and pin them to my back.

layer my pubescent thoughts

into thin paper wings.

I read somewhere

that if you immerse yourself

within your past,

then your skeletons will tumble

from closets.

I am ghost hunting through my bones

and forming the clumsy loops

into a handwritten corset.

I want to have a heartwarming party

and invite all my ghosts

to spill the tea

and nibble on scone dreams.

I want to speak the ghost 

of my awkward twelve year old self

and pull off the weight of my lessons;

make her a pair of wings

to whisper I love you as she flies.

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