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Realizing our Greatest FlawsThe worst feeling in the world
Is the realization
That we are no longer children.
When we were young
We spent our nights
Hiding from the monsters under our beds.
We feared the vampires
Whose sharp fangs tore us apart
Only to drink red from our veins.
We were terrified of the zombie
Devouring our minds and only wanting more.
Who use to be like us
But no longer can reach humanity, living in isolation.
We were afraid of the dark,
As it consumes us and our understanding
Concealing what might be there.
What we feared was there.
Ghosts haunted our past
And goblins filled us with fright.
We hid under our covers,
And tried to escape from
What we could not see,
But what we believed to be.
But what is most terrifying
Is that the monsters
Our flaws reflected through our dreadful imaginations.
And now we cannot hide
Because we must face our greatest fear
When we gaze into our mirrors.
A Terrifying Realization of Everlasting HeartbreakLove is terrifying.
I am afraid of looking into someones eyes
And seeing a future.
How lovely it would be
To hold out your hand and not be afraid of falling down.
To not be afraid of loosing yourself
And then watching them leave with everything you loved.
I have never loved myself,
Or felt content when I looked in the mirror.
So the day he walks out that door,
I do not think that my feet will stay planted.
I do not think my legs will stand strong,
Or my eyes look ahead,
Or my heart stay complete.
Because being in love is giving someone your heart
And trusting them to keep it close.
Love is falling and praying they will catch you.
And I do not believe that I will make it out of this world alive.
So I stray from the idea of a future
And avoid looking others in the eyes
Because I am afraid of seeing the constellations in their pupils,
Or finding an ending in their smile.
Because my heart is afraid of oblivion
And so I can only hope to fall
And only hope to love.
Blind LoveMaybe his glasses are on all wrong.
Or he hurt his ear listening to music too long.
He must have looked too long at the sky
Perhaps he has mist in his eye
It may be the wind took away his sight
Or maybe the sky took away his flight
He must be blind
To possibly find
Something good in me and my life
Depressing Thoughts Are All I KnowI want it to stop.
The pain in my chest I mean.
When I close my eyes I don't want to open them again
When I open my eyes I want to go.
I'm hoping for it to end
Because my bones are shaking
And the end is dawning
And I don't like it.
I should have something to live for.
I'm probably being dramatic.
Taking the broken and crumbling it to dust.
I'm probably being crazy
With my wicked thought and my shrouded smiles.
I'm probably being stupid
With these ideas touched by cigarette ash.
I'm delusional, hallucinating my own fate
But I'm alive.
I want it to stop.
Sitting here with a knot trapped in my fist is only
But all the same
This screaming in my head
Is louder then the pounding in my heart.
And as my breath is bated
And my lungs fill with the ashes of tonight
I let myself fall, and I allow myself to
New Ideas are FormingSuddenly it’s hard to breathe.
My heart is racing and it is becoming difficult to
How can I do this?
How do I do this?
My heart won’t stop hurting
My head won’t stop hurting.
It’s hard to stop shaking
To stop hurting.
To stop loving.
I’m so afraid of the future that I forget my past.
It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
Their words are stinging and their actions are burning
And I can’t understand their words.
Their words are drowning in my mind
In my bitter thoughts.
It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
To stop this aching
And the breaking
And the taking and oh how hard it is to stop
I think that is the hardest part of it all.
To tell yourself that it doesn't’t matter where you turn
The end is always around the corner.
It’s suddenly hard to breathe
ExpressionsI wish I were a better poet
So I could tell you how I feel.
Because these words get stuck in my throat
And make my emotions unreal.
I wish I were a better poet
And these words came from me.
Because when I think of you
The words don’t come so easily.
You twist words as if they are clay
Create beauty from 26 letters.
So how can I be good at this
When I know you can do better?
But for you I wish to type these thoughts down
To try to truly show it.
Because when you stop and smile at me
I wish I were a better poet.
No WordsI cannot speak.
My tongue is glued to my teeth and this stupid smile.
My words won't form
And I don't know how to breathe.
Heart pounding a mile a minute
And chest aching
I cannot speak.
You take these words from my mouth
And you turn them into shaking fingers and blushing faces.
I am tongue tied and heart twisted and falling.
What do I do.
With your perfect soul staring at me.
How does speech work.
How do I form the words off the tip of my tongue
And let them roll down my side like rain.
Typing feels like an eternity as I write this down.
I don't know how words work because you take them away.
And when our lips meet the world disappeared
And I no longer needed words.
Because my words are now yours.
And my beating heart tells you my story.
A story about a broken girl with broken eyes
And a boy who shone light through the cracks
And created a sunrise.
So this is what it is like to drown.So this is what it is like to drown.
To close your eyes and slowly suffocate,
To hold your head underwater and feel like up is down
Emotions seem to know no bounds.
Your head is reeling.
Disappearing into a moment in time when you looked at your wrists and all you saw was nothing.
When you stared at your reflection and all you felt was nothing.
When the numbness inside became more than nothing, when it become broken.
The strands that held us together no more,
And our eyes no longer have life.
Breathe in, Breathe out.
Hold on to what you consider sanity
And sink below the surface.
You smile a broken grin that is too wide for your face.
You break life into your eyes and hope that they don’t see the cracked glass.
Pity is nothing to us.
I am nothing
So this is what it is like to be a dear in headlights.
To open your eyes to a blinding realization that you am changed.
To stare int
Broken Mirrors and Flawed ProtectionOver time we learn to hate ourselves.
We search for flaws in a cracked bathroom mirror
These reflections are not us
They are our demons.
We look and look for our very flaw
But aren’t we all creations?
Aren’t we all perfect because of our imperfections?
Why must we search for satisfaction and acceptance from a broken idea?
I have learned from experience that skinny is acceptable.
That having curves and having a flat stomach is more important than having a soul.
I learned from the social norms and the magazines that I am flawed.
But I am myself.
Am I not good enough for you?
Am I not what you look for when you search for sexual fantasies?
I do not apologize for my stomach or my thighs.
I am not sorry for my freckles or my pimples or my chipped fingernails.
I will not apologize for my predetermined, biological, programed features.
I will not be a perfect image of society
Because we are all different.
Because when I stare in the mirror
All I see is myself.
And you know what?
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stop
spewing pretty metaphors at me,
for with each elaborate comparison,
I feel a bit more
detached from this world
And maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,
but would you be
if you felt like the entire universe
was resting upon your shoulders,
and someone was just there saying:
But you’re stronger than the powerful beats
of a butterfly’s wings
And maybe I do need more confidence,
but would you exuberate it
when the part you hated most about yourself
were the freckles that have speckled your face for years,
and someone was just there muttering:
They’re not flaws,
but rather stars that form constellations
Yes, I can’t help but hate
all those unrealistic metaphors
you choose to pelt at me when I’m low,
yet the irony is,
I know that those beautiful words
are realistic in your eyes,
So I can’t hate you.
Clear WristA clear wrist, barren of scars,
as opposed to skin sauntered in marks,
tells a trickier story than it's soiled and raw,
uncaring, unkempt counter part.
Bravery, I think it holds,
the strength to bare unimaginable loads
of pain and suffering through endless times,
and withstanding the agony of sleepless nights.
Some think it is fear, the reluctance to cut,
but I believe it opposite, it show courage and guts.
To bear your pain without a nick on your wrist,
is like a solider braving his terrain while being torn limb from limb.
Agonizing as it is, to hide your pain,
you do it so well, and no attention you'll gain.
At the end of the day, it's not cry for attention,
rather a cry for the victory that's silently mentioned.
Your scars are those not self inflicted,
and despite the gnawing intention,
to harm yourself and ease your pain,
the scars you earn are rightfully gained.
In a room of those who have jumped the gun,
and left traces of blood deep in their arms,
do not be tempted to do the sam
dark circlesi haven't slept well in 14 days
my eyes droop pretty colors
'50 shades of purple and grey,
they're bags and they're designer'
making jokes is how i cope
with chapped lips and constant chap-stick
it tastes like honey and mint
i laugh and say i'm addicted.
hooded lids and sleepy smiles
during lunch at subway
my friends ask if I'm okay
I say that I'm just tired.
but really when I see him with her
my heart sinks to the tiles
she's pretty and witty and sure as hell she can sing
and i'm just a loud bone-collector.
when I see her with him,
dancing and laughing and grinning,
the ring on her finger
laughs at my singularity.
for as much as i lie and as much as i try
my loneliness still creeps in,
because no matter how much they protest,
i'm still the lowly fifth-wheel.
walking behind them on sidewalks
that are wide, but built for four
smiles and laughs when they look back
but the frown creeps evermore.
pelvis peaks through paper-thin skin
and knuckles white and pale
my ribs are empty, my bo
Broken or UnbrokenI'm afraid of the day he learns to love himself.
For the day he looks down at his wrists and sees the stars
For the day where he opens his mind and breaks down these bars
For the day his scars reveal the golden interior.
I'm terrified of the day he sees his worth.
The day where his eyes shine like silver
And his heart beats in time to the marching of his feet
I'm afraid of the day he sees how beautiful he is
For that is the day he leaves me
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
to weigh down
into leaden eyes--
i am the
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of your
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
and dead altogether,
i still die.
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