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Grace Jordan Sep 2015
Insert possible Trigger Warning for my fuckity bluntness today*

God knows if you've read a lot of my work, you know I am all about the metaphors and symbolism and all of that, right? I twist everything into run on sentences of Wonderland madness and all of that.

Well, today, **** that.

You heard me. **** my words and my poetry, today we are being blunt, as blunt as a person who feels uncomfortable at the mere mention of some words when she's feeling down. But this isn't about me right now. Well it is, but not. Anyway, here we go.

You know what ******* *****?

Suicidal thoughts. And thoughts of cutting. And insane impulses. And moving vehicles and how nice it sounds to jump in front of one sometimes, even if its simply because you want to know what it feels like.

I lie a lot, ok? I am probably able to be diagnosed as a pathological liar at this point, if we want to be ******* honest for once, because I am so scared of terrifying people and hurting them and making them feel bad that I keep the truth inside. I tell snippets or water-downed versions, but I literally want to bash my skull in half the time from unwanted impulses or put myself in a straight-jacket for how nice causing myself pain sounds. Its crazy, I know its crazy, but its my head and its me and that's a hard thing to live with when saying 'I'm not like the other girls' stops being a fashion statement and turns into a curse.

Impulses and impulsiveness in general is not ******* cute, ok? I look at a car and I want to run into it. I see any attractive person and I wonder what it would be like to flirt and kiss and see their body naked. I see a train and wonder what it would be like to run away. I finish a book and I want to publish and quit school and be a full time author with half a writing degree. I see a knife and I wonder what it'd be like to stab someone with it. I am not suicidal or nymphomaniac or a murderer, and I don't truly want to do any of these, but the ******* impulses. In that moment its the only thing that sounds like a good idea, and I feel my body pull towards it. Just one step into the street, just a few hours of running away, just a little cut. I all ******* sick and I know it but its my head and though I control them better now I can't stop them.

I can't change people either. And because of my fuckity condition of moods and impulses if I get sad and get a suicidal impulse, it latches on like a *****. And I want it to stop and I want to feel better and I want help, but how do you tell your friends that the one little sentence they said turned you into a death-seeking mess?

I'm broken, and I'm ******* hella crazy, but I still want to be human. I want to be treated like I'm a person and not a ticking time bomb. I hate telling people anything going on in my head because I don't want to be treated like I'm some invalid. I am valid, I am real, and I don't deserve to be treated like a monster when I never do anything, I just have these ******* impulses.

****, ****, ****, **** impulses.

I hate impulses.

I am fully aware I'd feel empty without my range of emotion, but can the impulses go away, please? I don't want to even contemplate cheating on my boyfriend when its nothing that I want, I don't want to be afraid the impulses might get me to jump off the nearest bridge, and I don't want to cut my wrists.

I am fully aware people can't always get what they want, but why the hell do I have to fight a raging hell-monster that whispers all the things no one should do? Why do I get that special ******* pleasure? If this is some sort of 'gift' to make me stronger, guess what? I. Don't. Want. It.

I just want to be a normal quirky girl who's a little emotional and likes to write stories. Why is that such a hard dream?

And by the way?

I still ******* hate impulses.
Life's a Beach Feb 2016
Go **** Yourself,
because I never will again.

Remember when I did though.
Remember all of it.
Remember my mouth, and how
good I am down south.

I hope you remember how
good it felt to
sexually assault me
Because for you
I will remain your Frustrated
Wankstain of a memory
I will remain a dream
you stole on borrowed time.

Because you definitely didn't deserve mine, or
me.
I currently feel So ******* Free

Truth is:
We accept the love we think we deserve
and you were ******* greedy

and I am ****** glorious
So, from now on, I'm gonna go ahead and use my love
on those who deserve it; including myself.
Fuckity-Bye, you abusive, manipulative, selfish arsewipe.
Have fun ******* yourself,
knowing that I did it better.
:) :) :)
Incredible moment of realisation today, bought on by my ex throwing a tantrum that was obviously aiming to make me feel upset. His cruelty made me ridiculously happy, because I've realised that he lost me. He did **** this up. I was accused of not loving him enough, but I did love him enough, he just constantly wanted more.
Tea Jun 2013
how do you say ******* to the world without admitting you are giving up. **** **** fuckity. I know I am classy. Lady like. So put together, but ironically I know who I am and this will un- cluster **** itself eventually. I am okay, but seriously universe what are you trying to prove? So again i ask, how so you say ******* world without admitting you gave something up? A little bit of hope, of innocence, of faith in something. But I have given something up. so I suppose I should able to express my loss however makes me feel better.
*you dont say ******* to the world without admitting you have given up on something.
*******
*******
******* *******
*******
You ****** my mother
You *******
I ought to *******
You ******* ******
Dearest ******
Of my mother
I’m ******* ******
If you don’t smother
Me with *****
You fuckity ******
**** your face
You lucky ******
****
Ford Prefect May 2019
you still make me restless
Destroyed in seconds
Cremation of Creation.
My Gut ACHES
So many cuts
so many stitches
Wee hours of my life
down the drain
I aM ****** up
I hurt bad
My ******* iron
burned insane
killed my new creation
now it is lame
fuckity **** ****
my return to the sewing world
needs some luck
I killed my best art quilt with the iron. so sad.  not my best poetry but its just off the top of my head
Andronicus VI Dec 2018
Today I'm struggling
My head is spinning
My eyes are leaking
******* HORMONES
******* FRUCKING FOOKING FUCKITY ****
I want to **** myself
I want to smash things up and swear and stomp and cry and and and and and I WANT TO ******* GO HOME
**** THESE SYNTHETIC HORMONES
I'm done with this
So
done
Let me go
Nothing is working
Nobody gives a **** anyway
Get a new person to do my ****** job
Get someone who knows what they're doing
Get someone who isn't ******* FULL OF SYNTHETIC HORMONES
****
>_<
blab fuckity **** **** gab
buncha tryin to be some-
thing real or whole

x-press(ion) squeezing pleads
into hypnotic hymnal
humming breathe

up my thighs
now, not numb
but tingling throes

I feel all the
nothings winking
at everything con-
tained therein

and I squirm
toward the right

where it
overflowed
Micheal Wolf Nov 2018
Whisper she said as her lids grew heavy, as the day ended and her bed beconed.
"Don't let them know" was what she said,  in Orwellian terms still a rebel redhead!

Whisper oh whisper! So no other hears and steals you words and enslaves your dreams.
A rallying cry at 00.01 as her eylids closed and she snuggled down.

A rebel at heart and a heart all her own, memories of her when I was young. The Mary Quant of our local pub an Icon of my wasted youth.

A lifetime ago, well maybe half and then one day there she was! Sat listening to a guy on gutiar, no mistaking it was her.
At the end of the night they left together, double denim man and Suzie the stranger.
I thought that would be the last I would see of a face I had always wanted to kiss.

Now fate and fortune never steered my path until one night I was in the Cavern.
Then like a muse that teased your very soul, there she was with double denim man oh fuckity ****!

Shunted and shifted from club to club then there for a moment she was all alone.
We spoke and laughed and had both had enough and somehow her lips seemed to scream
"Kiss me now!"

Only a fool would have refused that chance so I kissed her and imagined we were 20 again.
Lips parted, not awkward,
but should I have kissed?
It was double denims woman and I had stolen a kiss!

So Whisper now as I whispered then. When I stole a kiss or was it given away.
Only you would know which, but
I wish I had kissed you again and again.
I had an idea and ran with it.
“I’ve had enough pain for a lifetime.”

She’ll hurt again,
no doubt,
but maybe she won’t go looking for it this time.

She was the storm chaser
proving her strength
to none but herself.

“The bigger, the badder, the better.”

Now she relates more to soldiers
than she could to anyone intact.
Flashbacks abound,
she’s what you might call a damaged girl.

Maybe it’s low self worth;
maybe she’s stubborn as hell;
maybe she only feels her power
when she’s at war.

“Oh fuckity ****!”

She’s so broken now;
she’s so sad now;
she’s so afraid now.
“I think I’m broken now.”

Who broke this storm chaser?

It’s a feat to scare the fearless;
it’s a talent to break the strong.
You should be proud of yourself:
you’re a special kind of *******
if “you broke the storm chaser.”
Written December 7, 2021

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