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I carry a vial of ashes
As a pendant over my heart
Sometimes, the glass breaks
And it smears all over my art
Thus, I force myself to remember
The hatred turned into a lamentable ember

The palms of my hands ache
And I kneel in fragments of glass
Of my own creation
I fumble with the ashes scattered
I grab at it and the soil
Which all slips through my fingertips

I am a damnable, hateful person
And I carry a requiem note
Fraught with envy in my voice
I cannot see where I shall go
I have no light upon my path
But I can see from whence I came

A placid path
That has kept me safe
From the thorns and bramble of life
But alas, now I know grief
And pity is my closest companion
In the discrete absence of those
Whom I could call a true friend

However, though I know
This path, yellow brick,
I do not know where it leads
But I cannot move on
There is glass and ash on my path
And it all comes into darkness,
Like thread comes through a needle

I cry out
Again and again
My hands bleed
As I scrabble at the ground
And I know it punishment
For keeping the ashes of hatred
Rather than the petals of love
Or, perhaps, the tears of sorrow

There are a good many things
I could have chosen to keep
In the vile vial
I wear as a pendant to distort
My dear and precious heart,
So foolish and jealous

But, unfortunately,
It is ash in my heart
Ash in my head
And, finally, ash on my path
Sullying the joyful, sunshine yellow path
That leads me, the thread, the through the needle
Should I finally rise to my feet and the occasion
And choose to tread on broken glass
And search my surroundings
For something else to keep in my tender vile
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
I said I would never love again
I built my walls up
20 feet high
I was left in pieces

I swore I would never fall for anyone again
But with one look my walls came down
I've felt this way before
How do I tell you?

I try and keep them up
But you destroyed my defences
I don't want to fall for you
I don't want to hurt you

I am one broken person you don't want to fix
I don't want my walls to fall down
But there is one thing that is true
I love you
This is for someone very special
oh, rose addicted lips,
cruel and beautiful,
whisper your gentle lies
and ponder;
what do you despise more,
the ache or the release?
Virginia Kasmi
You are the burn of a paper cut,
on my highly sensitive skin.
A sharp pain, a quickly drawn bloody line.

You are the cold of a brain freeze,
on a hot summer day.
A few seconds of a heart on fire and a mind on ice.

You are the slams of my heart against my ribs.
Irregular, too fast, breathtaking.

And yet you are the ecstasy of my thoughts.
A trigger of uncontrolled feelings,
a spread of joy.
And I want more, and more, and more.
Ben Estrada
God of all promise, you who have given so much
keep your hand upon us, we are the canvas and you have the brush
and when you speak, 100 billion worries turn to grey
and your infinite kindness shows the way
and if the saints of old did trust you so will I

God of agape, you who have given your dove
showing me how someone like me can be loved
and when she speaks, 100 billion reasons fill my head
why joy and peace and hope replace the dread
and if you love her with all your heart then so will I

Inspired by one of my favorite songs.
Srijani Sarkar
i want you to beat me up
real bad
please please let me bleed completely
before i recover from infancy
don't wait for me to be tired
break me all at once
grind my feelings into a powdery mess
so that when someone enters our bedroom they slip on the floor and see a stretch mark-ed ceiling
to not know pain but just how ironical numbness is
                      and then hug me
like you would a voodoo soft toy
with the scratched leather wings
of a bewitched witch who has seen it all sober
but still can't tell a sheep's wool from snakeskin
caress my dilapidated knees
without once telling me to stand up on my own or for myself
all i want from you is
to kill me at dawn
i'll know that i was loved
HTR Stevens
A bed of roses has many a thorn;
Pain, hardships and suff’ring are of earth born.
Life is not a road that runs smooth and straight;
They on whom we shower love may return hate.
Life has many a wild and worthless dream;
Yet, how many a low thing we esteem!
Powers and all fade with the breaking dawn;
And with them all bright prospects are withdrawn.
Farewell to thee, o sweet and fragrant flower;
Power and Beauty take leave at Death’s hour.
Howe’er great or grand to men thou may be,
When Death looms o’erhead, no man can save thee.
Fare-thee-well, dear reader, be brave at heart;
Fight the good fight, then with a smile depart.
Jack Ritter
A baby shuts his eyes and sees
bull continents drift,
collide, startle, spin around.

Old World bucks suddenly accuse-
(Did YOU just back into ME?)
They jam head-to-head,
gouge, reconcile, then confer.

This he likes!

They get down to business.
They iron out earth's future
with special bellows.

Above this caucus
of nodding, naying heads,
their clacking antlers mesh
into a bourgeoning thicket.

He calls for more!

The thicket shudders,
sprouts into a dagger forest.

It shoots up recklessly,
like a baby's legs,
to jab the sky
with young ideas:

New species, struggles, lies.
Whole societies in the air,
too busy to explain
the bellowing below.

    The weight of so much life is too much.

There is a final SNAP
of Old World backs.

Not a grain remains on which to carve
the memory of all the things
that passed before this baby's eyes.
A friend called it a Darwinian myth. Highest hurdle was anthropomorphizing continents.
I told him that he is special, and doesn't realize how great he really is.
And to me that is so true.
Doesn't he notice that he makes doing laundry more enjoyable for me,
and I am happiest when we are just talking.
I am so comfortable that I can sleep around him, and eat around him and just be my weird self.
I still get so excited to see him and bashful when he looks at me a little longer.
This crush isn't going away even though I kind of wish it would because all I really want is to be his girl.
Psychotic Harmony
I give you my trust
That belongs to so few
So old, it's covered in rust
It's been years since it grew

My trust has grown tough
Having been broken too many times
It's calluses are rough
Rougher than the skin of limes

I am trusting you
Please be careful with me
Promise you'll be true
I break very easily

I love you
That's a fact
Truer than true
It's not an act

So take my trust
Treat it with care
Lest it be dust
Crushed out of despair
Paranoia gets the better of me all too often, but many times I am right to be paranoid. We live in a lying, cheating, broken world.
Hannah Christina S
Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?
Problems only We True Artists face.
It was there at last,
Crowds chanting fast,
Rows of cheers,
Echoed by peers,
On a winning show meant for victory.

It was there at last,
All the toil of the past,
All the bruises with the cast,
All the people I've trust,
Waiting for the call of our hard-earned victory.

Once, at last,
The announcement has passed,
And our faces aghast,
By the fate of our cast;
Silent in news of almost our victory.
We trained so hard. We practiced on rest days. We performed our very best, and yet we fail the contest of our labored victory.
your dark ocean eyes
surpass the depths I have known
will your tides be near?
if i scare your waves, will you
ever want to conquer fear?
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."
Terrible remains,
I make them part
Human refuges
in a misused heart
I hang my canvas high
over your head
a painting of a life
not yet led
I place my hand on your anthology
I dissect your words in an attempted autopsy
Inside I find lovers that speak like mourners
my thoughts bleed and accumulate in your corners
I press myself against your notebook
escape others estranged look
And fill your pages with my red
until you're happy and well fed
our bodies are an assembly
our only vessels, bruised and trembly
my armadas of paper boats
may slip through the cracks
to fill us both up
with all that lacks
My passion is so big. It pushes out of my throat and jumps out into the world. I’m screaming and yelling. And the world is afraid, they think it’s embarrassing but it is something too deep there shallow minds cannot comprehend. Day to day only thinking of the task at hand. Must be so easy to live that way. But are you living at all ? Are you even awake ? My thoughts never cease to leave my mind. I’m always thinking of everything I can but I don’t care what you think of me. Your opinion of me doesn’t change the opinion of myself. I’m beautifully and wonderfully made. And I finally love myself. You can’t ever take that from me world. Not again.
Rabina Rahamat
can you really see me?
do you love the real me?
if you love me tell me what you see.
do you see the pain behind my tears when you raise your voice and i try to understand why i deserve it.
or do you just see childish tears that dont mean shit
do you see the genuine smiles, laughs, pure happiness when im by your side
or do you just see obsession and posession because i miss you when you’re not by mine?
why do you love what is good about me and ignore what is bad?
because truly i am both.
there is good and there is bad
there is happy and there is sad
im tired of pretending happiness is the only emotion i have
there is more to me!
there is more to me than what you choose to see
hold me and feel the weight of what my heart truly holds
see the real me.
for those who comment on your skin
as if it were their own
should realize they do not OWN you
or your body
the only thing they can own are your insecurities
so set yourself free
let yourself breathe
and reclaim what is rightfully your own
The cruel does not speak,
speak those who feel cruelty "
The cruel are alive
those who feel cruelty are dead

Why not follow Cain?
seen the land of Cain is my leak
I feel terrified on my bed,
breathe Oxygen 'til my bit,

Be cruel and born cruel gods speak,
Why are shadows running for me weak?
Gosts spies on me all week,
Because my strength is weird,

Wow, I'm better now be a dragon.
on my metallic griffin
I'm better  be cruel in my fly angels,
As gods I am perfect I am cruel,
I can’t think of a reason
I don’t see any meaning
It all hurts, but there’s no bleeding
The cleaving, the cleaving
Wrapped in an all black dress
Headspins, the crowd is ecstatic
You walk to me, then I wake
I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming

Oh, you taunt me in my sleep
A broken, hopeless mess
Refusing to rest
Symbolizing my depravity
No you don’t even know what’s best
Heartstrings pulled from my chest

I want you here
But you’re only in the deepest of sleep
What do you even care?
Perfect moments laying stuck in repeat
Kick over the chair
To match that beautiful outfit
This is my despair
No way out, no outlet.

I can’t sleep
I can’t move
I’m trapped in this limbo of urgency
I can’t speak
I can’t breathe
Performing a surgery with those eyes
So refine
Put me to sleep, or be my demise
It’ll be fine
I’ll close off my mind
And think nothing of you.
Toxic paradise, the land of the plastic,
Where beauty is painted and smiles are elastic
A planet that's built on staying youthful,
While we lie and we stab, and we're far from truthful

How can we tell the next generation this?
We're all outcasts yet we cast out the misfits
It's a bit suspicious, a name on a bad list,
Naughty or nice, doesnt work, won't exist...

There's just a blank canvas, hanging on the mantle
Above a dusty fireplace, with the light of a candle
Hope is kindling, so spark our dying fire
And watch us all get high on the smoke of hope's pyre

I didn't ask for this,
I didn't want to turn to you
But I guess the time has come,
Step to the looking glass and see the truth

Oh, such bitterness...
Stemming from an old abyss
With withered lips,
I'll curse you with a pity kiss...

Dirty winds, along the shore,
Here marks dead, the lonely crows caw
I cannot seem to sleep,
With the messenger of Him, waiting to reap

I see, what you won't,
And I feel, what you don't.
You came here, searching for more,
But all you found was a chemical

Up it goes, so lonely now,
Everything is warped and you're slow to sound
Curse afflicted, curse is addictive,
And when the bad days come you know you're protected, oh...

I didn't ask for this,
I didn't want to turn to you
But I guess the time has come,
Step to the looking glass and see the truth

Oh, such bitterness...
Stemming from an old abyss
With withered lips,
I'll curse you with a pity kiss...

Rot is plenty, not yours to perceive
Falling victim to your greed
Painful, true, but it's not to you,
Just the cause of a fallen few

She comes swift now heed her gift,
Bottoms up when she gave you this
Whiskey on the rocks and you're gone again,
Slumped on the table like you lost a friend.

In a way, suppose you have
Now the whiskey is down and it's all so sad
Poor me, pour me one more
And I'll go stumbling out this door

I didn't ask for this,
I didn't want to turn to you
But I guess the time has come,
Step to the looking glass and see the truth

Oh, such bitterness...
Stemming from an old abyss
With withered lips,
I'll curse you with a pity kiss...

Curse me, hurt me,
Doesn't matter what you do
Curse me, hurt me
In a toxic world with a beauty feud
Artificial relief from the witches cauldron we boil in
Orange Rose
I wrote a poem when I died...
Another at my birth.
A brand-new sonnet when I cried.
And again when there was mirth.

A song for my confession...
A story for my pain...
A painting for depression...
And nursery rhymes for rain.

My creations live inside my heart.
I keep them there in shame.
Yet you looked around and saw my art,
And smiled all the same.
I see you.
With your heart of stone
I see you
With your gilded mask
I see you
With your diamond tears
I see you
With your blazing tongue
I see you
With your glass smiles
I see you
With your empty eyes
I see you
With your fragile hands
I see you
With your broken lies
I see you
With your stooped shoulders
I see you.
Everything you are,
Everything you are not.
I see you
And I care.
I see you, because you are like me.
Allie Dotson
A touch
smooth and still
silk touches my back
I stand on will
black I see
trapped I feel
lashes go heavy
my is mind ready
blur to darkness I go in
diamonds appear
crystals upon my skin
fog forms each exhale
only screams can I hear
the only noise are my tears
  I try to stay
yet I fall into my fears
I kinda imagined someone who is standing in the rain and they are so "heart broken" or broken and cold that they pass out..I don't think I did that well describing it though :/
Tash Mckay
I have a nephew who's full of life
Makes me happy in this shit life .
He is the rising sun
Breaking light on every one
Helping me smile
Helping me be free
Colors just burst for he
He can not talk
He is special needs
But in his silence
I no his needs
He also smart
He understands me
He make me laugh
He so full of glee
So happy
So insightful
So misunderstood
He walks in a room
A bomb of energy
Oh dear sweet boy
I do love thee
Thankyou for trusting me
Thankyou for showing me
How to be free
You are the fastest river I ever see run
The strongest boy
So full of joy
Heart so pure
Colours dance around you when you sleep
He is the kindest wee boy you will ever meet x
My nephew is 6 he is special needs I spend a lot of time with him x we have a close bond . He such a sweetie x but he is ill in hospital so this is a poem dedicate to him xxxx I want him to be ok x
I don’t feel close
to poetry.

It feels elusive.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.

It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.

If I call out
it doesn’t hear.

Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.
a (the) woman’s body (pretty pleasing)

is my reciprocal

her waist is my happy place

her neck is my doorway

the rest is
best when she is mirror accessorizing,
preening, nude upon first rising,
tallying the gains and the losses

unaware of my watching,
never satisfied she, tho she is 98% unadmitting contented,
as she shifts her weight,
from knee to knee extended alternating
with slow delicacy

for the pleasure is trebled
for her imagine image reverberates
throughout the house

for ever mirror is pre-positioned
accidentally angled just so

she doesn’t know and asks why I’m grinning,
answer is
no confessionary, no telling I’m sinning,

eyes scheming-dreaming of her reciprocity

she smiles and says  
“good morning bad boy”

maybe she does know
but you won’t tell her,
we, you and me,
are pretty pleasing

she is 1/me
she is won over me
you said
you were afraid
to lose me
and then you
faced your fears
and left
A vow means a vow
Take me to your heart
Cause your an abstract art
Let me destroy your past
If love exists let it live between us
Love means love

You are the reason
I am living today
Let's love every day
Cause your one kiss makes my day
I want to feel you
Every night I give myself unto you
Tonight at Paris lets rendezvous
Love means love

Take me by your hand
Your heart is my heartland
Your soul is my soulmate
Your body is a wonderland
Your hair is as smooth as the waters flow
Love means love

I am broken
But you fixed me
You heal me
You change me
You make my heart melt
You make me happy
You make me cry
You make me blush
You are the reason
You will be the only one I love forever
Love means love

Souls connected
Hearts mixed
Fingers intertwined
I will wait for you even if it takes a billion years
I have loved you for so many years
And never plan on hurting you
I'll keep you safe in these arms of mine
Cause your love is in my mainline
Love means love

Darling, I love you
Means I'll fight for you
Means I'll care for you
Means I'll touch you like no one else
Means I'll be with you even when we grow old
Means I'll love you like no other
Means I'll keep you safe  
Means I'll forever keep our vows
And most of all put down my life for you
Love means love
This is the first poem i ever wrote <3 Hope u all like it :)
In a world
Where loving
More than one
Person is ok
And killing
Babies is a must
To get someone
To stay
Where "I love you"
Is over said
And over
Where fat is
Too much
And skinny
Too little
And we aren't
What they
Where words
Should rhyme
And songs
Should have
Some sort
Of connection
Where straight-
Forward people
Should, for
Some reason,
Have their minds
In a world
Where people
Cry and
No one
Seems to
Where everyone
Is better than
Those who
Sit and
I want
To know
Where beauty
Why life
Is such
A fuss
Why do
We still
Drag it on
Instead of
Being us
I am an entity
of every mistake I’ve made
dehumanized into
flesh and bone,
is all you see me as.
I am not me,
but every illusion of me
you’ve created in your mind
that I have not lived up to

When will you realize that I’m
human too
Maybe 10 years from today,
Maybe only 1 year away,
Or even just 1 day,
I will be able to say...
Words that should be said
Aaron Bee
Pain is such a genuine feeling.
what I'm feeling right now, isn't exactly pain but merely the absence of. I understand that my flesh has nerves all over and that is part of whats keeping me going . Life is seems a lot foggier and I am walking into the dark. Feeling what I can understand, searching for the braille letters and hoping I find a coherent sentence
Something old
I’m sorry

For doubting you

Your dreams, your beliefs

Your desires, your grieves

I’m sorry

for projecting fear on you

For taking one step behind

Because I thought about all the things

That could hurt you

But not all the opportunities that it could bring

I’m sorry

For not loving you enough

For hurting your body

And forgetting your soul

Leaving your mind empty

With everything foul

I’m sorry

For leaving you breathless

Tired eyes, weary sighs

You are more than you think

But I don’t tell you enough

I’m sorry for holding you back

Making you feel worthless

Ugly and sad

Losing your sense of inner beauty

Judging you, your outer seemed filthy

I’m sorry

I promise to love you better

So your heart will always be whole

- an apology letter to myself

A lot of the time, we blame others and we also blame ourselves. But it’s time to snap out of it. To learn from our mistakes, to get up, give ourselves a chance to improve and be better, not stay in the hole we dug for ourselves.
I wrote this letter to myself on 9th November last year. It’s not because I was feeling sorry for myself but because I became aware that I HAD to stop feeling sorry for myself, my situation, my downfalls, my mistakes but to rise above, saying sorry to myself shifted my perspective, and the thing that brought me to this awareness is the belief that the God I know has accepted and loves
me for all that I am, now I too can accept myself, all that I am and who I can grow to become.
Ask yourself what you have to do to get out of the hole you’re in, don’t focus on how you got in there anymore, definitely don’t stay or think you can get comfortable in there.. find a way out, there’s always a way out.
Melissa S
Dream of me
I am real...
I am where smiles are made
and tears fade away
Where hope springs forth
Away from the darkness
of the earth

I am the glow of the moon
and all the stars in the sky
those who seek the light
shall have me as their guide

I am the red bird or butterfly you see
Just keep your eyes open... to find me
I am where tomorrow is coming
and hope always holds on
My darling
I am never truly gone....❤
I have been dreaming of my mother lately and do not want to wake up because it feels so real and I miss her so. I wrote this from her perspective writing to me
she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.
10:02 PM 5/1/2018
a vast orange fissure opens in the face of the earth.
the sky—a mirage of blue and orange—portends darkness.
the canyon, in its grandeur, is nothing more than
a tessellation of orange and black from shadows of unknown.

a measly being stands alone, right by a hungry cliff.
clueless, you are accompanied by aimless tumbleweeds.
they seem to be running away from something.
shouldn't you run away from whatever it is, too?

the wind sweeps the barren landscape, devoid of life.
the sun kisses vivid orange rocks and dirt one last time.
you shout to the seemingly-endless expanse of orange,
but you only hear the burning souls shouting in return.

the darkness slowly envelops your field of vision.
whatever is chasing you is now inching by, bit by bit.
the dusk is fast approaching, but you have nowhere to hide
                             ...and so you run, but the cliff is a dead end.
A caw-
ing of birds
with blunt
-ed beaks
and clip-
ped wings
that can’t fly
or sing
worth a lick
-ety split
ing and peck
-ing a-way
at the best
ing inside
a chest
-full of
ing Blue
felt art
songs in-
of sing
-ing along
ing they
know better
-   the rest?
This in response to the deletion of a great and true HP Poet’s account tonight as a result of constant harassment by at last count 13 dumbass, iealous, couldn’t write a decent poem if the male har-ass-ers tripped over their stupid pricks and the idiotic wagging female tongues who all took part in this. You know who you are. This harassment was reported to HP and to Eliot directly without the courtesy of a reaponse, and without action to curb it. The creation of monitors was a total waste of time. Many of you know her as Vicki. I’m sick of this kind of shit done by supposed adults, and sickened most of all by HP’s allowing this to continue even after multiple messages. As far as I’m concerned, the Guidelines and the so-called monitors aren’t worth a fucking dime. Which is exactly 10 cents more than I’ll ever again contribute to HP.  Go ahead and lock me ip, put me in the corner for awhile, or expel me. I don’t care. Maybe  we will see if the monitors are paying attention at all, or just another silly myth. If you’re a monitor and reading this, I would like to hear your thoughts after you wake the fuck up.
Most Sincerely,
Nat Lipstadt
The Instigation:
Edmund  Black “weary weighted,” I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“l


both of you shush;

there is no “better” in poetry

mine yours theirs, alive or not

just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail

tissue, too,
baby soft, or,
purple beating majestic bruised blotches
by those weaklings whose
kindness never
fully developed;  
or old man mine whose
skin cells erodes, so poems and light
weary weighted, lightly flake off
for your “betterment”
mostly tho for worse

good humans all await,
in patientce lightly hidden,
residents of dark sunspots
in the glaring existence exposer
of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come

they get it

how we get there unimportant

get there


get there
that is the poetic
mission critical

no path best or style preferred-
no compare just, but,
any path that
lifts and elevates,
to the commonplace

the common place

where all costarred, universal,
where common is the temple mount
of highest praise, holy smoke rising,

a place that
that discloses and closes,
is scribed/described honestly as
a connective,
which is the simplest

call my poems,
blessedly common
that an honorable,
so gladly accepted*

so much more meaning-full
than merely best or better

for that,
I’d gladly weep,
for no praise
ever been

8/2/18 406pm
on the jitney to my isle
the instigation: Edmund black › “weary weighted, I agree with Kim .... This is poetry at its best :)“
I didn't choose it
I didn't wake up one day and tell myself
let's be anxious
let's be depressed
let's want to die
let's start self harming
I didn't choose to be like this

slowly my problems
my monsters
became visible
they started small
skipping lunch
making a cut or two on my hand
shaking for a while in school
but I fell

I didn't choose to be this person.
We just get handed who we are.
I didn't choose this.
I never wanted to be that

I didn't want to be riddled with anxiety and insecurities,
to wallow in self-pity and sleep for hours everyday
to stay up all night with anxiety
to steal razors
to eat one-hundred calories and then barf it back up
but that's what happened.

I didn't choose this
I didn't choose
I didn't choose to tear apart my life.
it just
I'm really good right now but in a reflective state currently oof
Tengo miedo a las alturas, a la noche oscura y al abandono.
Tengo 21 años y todavía creo en monstruos debajo de mi cama, quiero y no puedo cambiar patrones de mi vida que me hacen daño.
Me desvelo, no me hidrato, como mucho y fumo cada tanto, lloro porque si y por si acaso.
Te busco en rostros extraños y solitarios, en la escencia de los cactus, en aquella canción que una vez bailamos.
Todo parece congelado desde la soledad de mi cuarto.
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