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Your image is stuck in fragments in my mind like shattered glass, but this time it’s a vase that I wish didn’t have to break
we tell each other the things we want to hear because we're too afraid to hear the things we want to tell
and just like that the love story dies
creativity exists only in uncluttered spaces in the left corner of my mind reserved for falling in love, being in love, or being depressed

i've tried to write ten thousand times but i've only been left with a disappointment staring back at me, writing the same metaphor in about two hundred poems finding out ways i can be more creative but pushing away the melody of the keys because when you have assignment after assignment after assignment keys don't feel like comfort anymore

nothing can replace pen on paper but my notebook is running out of pages reserved explicitly for just me and if i get a chance to write down something usually it's a name staring back at me, identity undetermined, point zero on a map that has the whole world on it but somehow feels empty

my body has taken me to tons of countries, through plane rides and train rides and busses and trams, and somehow i still can't figure out how to find a route that best communicates my emotions

when the muse plays hide and seek i spend most of my time seeking and never finding, it spends most of its time sulking in the shadow of mental health never once thinking to come out enough to string just one line of thoughts

you can't make a poem from zgrjblksabg;saeibgsgkrg
writing is hard
so it's been two years and i'm still here
stuck somewhere between the memories of you, the memories with you, and the memories of me before i met you
it's been two years and i'm still trying to battle the pain in my chest
whenever my mind goes back to the feeling
of you holding me

it's been two years and sometimes i still cry when i turn off the light
because this notion of happy and single that i believe in
leaves every time i realise i am completely
utterly
alone
in the dark of my room
in a single bed

navigating this ship formerly known as me and you, more formerly
known as me, is more difficult than controlling the waves that came
crashing into me every day we were together
i turn around and all of a sudden i'm just the passenger on
my own sinking ship

the journey was fun while it lasted but i think it's time
to finally get in the water
and swim to shore
years go by as fast as days, i guess
i tell myself i'm independent and strong and made of metal
but the minute somebody comes into my life and holds me
the minute arms press against a heavy hearted chest
the second lips kiss a tired body
iron turns into honey
and they
the bee
midnight cuddles are no joke
i am always the i like you and never the i love you / always the i want you and never the i need you
I am all half *** whispers and wrong sides of the bed, all lukewarm milk with cereal and mediocre drip coffee, all tosses and turns and no peaceful slumber
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