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Liana Feb 20
I may not believe in a god(s)
But that does not mean that I do not have a religion

I believe in poetry
Not everyone has a god, but everyone has a religion. For some it's art, animals, money, or music. For me, it is words, or poetry. At night I do not pray to God, I write poetry. I do not ask God for answers, I write to figure them out myself. Poetry is my religion.
Liana Feb 20
I sit there
Passively doing schoolwork
Only to look up and notice
There are groups of people who are laughing and smiling

At first
I am grateful not to be one of them
It's so much work to pretend to be happy
To pretend to find the jokes funny
But then I remember
That usually people aren't pretending
I have to remind myself to not look sad sometimes, I don't want the unnecessary attention it often gets me. I just smile and pretend as long as I'm surrounded by a bunch of people.

(I know that this one isn't the most poetic or great but I felt that I wrote too many things that stayed as drafts today. Sorry!)
Liana Feb 19
I do not wish to be mature
I do not wish to be wise or responsible
I do not wish have an older soul
For it is not of my own doing

My house was on fire
And I was caught in the flames;
Of course I deteriorated quicker
And I learned how to not burn and become ashes

What should have taken a while to start to turn brown at the edges
From the sun and the warm pavement
Just took being born there

I do not wish to be able to take care of your child so well
For it was because I took care of my father when he couldn't do it himself

I do not wish to be able to avoid conflict easily
For it took practice to master

I have been molded
I have been been burned
I have shaped
I wish I weren't
But I am
And here we are today

I am a mix of grieving and grateful
Liana Feb 17
People fear death
Or more so,
What happens to our consciousness when our bodies can no longer be vessels for it
And I think
It is much like leaving the womb

You have this whole world inside of there
You like it (sometimes)
But you know you must eventually leave
And you don't know to where

You think it's probably far away,
But in fact it's
Right there
Only inches away

I think death is
Right there
I don't know if that makes everything more or less scary
Liana Feb 17
He ran into the street
The light was red
He made a car swerve

"You could die"
I scream at him from the sidewalk;
Eyes red and full of tears

"I want to,
And you want me to
So it wouldn't be that bad!"
He screams back
I just suggested upping the phone volume...

Everything is loud and out of control
Sounds of city surrounding me

So I just stand there
11 years old and alone
I don't know what to say
So I say nothing at all

He makes it to the other side
I don't know how to feel
He feels far away yet still too close
And I know I'll have to go closer

Let me present to you
The beginning of my birthday evening
Many more parts to this one

FYI the other person is my dad
Liana Feb 17
"I don't deserve anything"
She says
Tears pouring down her cheeks
Like little pieces of her soul

Were they claustrophobic
Or is there a hole where they should be now?

"You deserve everything
That's just Fred"
I tell her while caressing her back
Trying desperately to soothe the pain

"What?"
She says with a break in her voice that hurts to hear
I wish I could all of her's

"Fred is that monster in your head that tells you exactly what you don't need to hear"

"I hate Fred
And I hate me"
She says
I hear the desperation in her voice

"You're my friend
And I love you
Which means that I have to love Fred too
Because he is a part of you

Fred is just pain
He's often forced into these small nooks and cranny's in your mind
But it's dark and scary in there
He thinks he's helping you
And feels he has to come out sometimes

He's just bruised and broken
And that's fine
We all are
I still love you"

She says that she doesn't
She says she wants to die
I know how the world looks right now in her eyes
And it's not beautiful

I tell her that I'm there for her always
And that she's wonderful
That the world is awful and ugly
But also stunning

I tell her that those people don't know her
And that those words in that letter might have hurt her
But do not define her
And that some other ones might even comfort her

And after many more tears,
A coconut ice cream,
Some comfort food with a comfort show,
And a warm embrace,
Fred finally held her hand
And maybe,
She hated him a bit less
By the end
My friend had hard time, I won't go into it because it's her business, but not pleasant stuff.
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