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dyingpoet
dyingpoet
American writer.
i am not an it. i am not an object. i have a pulse. i have a beating heart. i am made of stardust. i am made up of skin and bones. and you still call me an it. your mind can't grasp the idea that i am a strong woman one day and a strong male the next.
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May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
genderfluidity
my pulse stops when our hands interlock my palms sweat when i see you my legs feel numb when we're intertwined and i feel like my brain bounces off the walls of my skull when you leave i feel the withdrawal in my bones but my heart knows that you'll come back tomorrow.
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Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
nervous system(s)
tell me why the people who want to change the world are the ones that have nothing but the ones who refuse to change anything have everything- money, notoriety, and most notable of all greed. can some please explain why we send money to hungry kids overseas yet we're blind to the young ones that are starving right in front of us? i just want to know why a hijab is considered a weapon in america but a gun is not. more importantly what i don't understand is how come women slave around for 9 months producing the human race yet we have no choice over our own bodies? we have made "progress" things are apparently "moving ahead" however, the right-wingers are putting that into your mind. if you look really close at what's happening you'll see you've been living an american lie. no one is free, really, no freedom of love or freedom our bodies we are the property of a corrupt government that apparently nurture us but only lie to us in the end.
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Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
the united states of dystopia
roses are red your lips are blue i hope you like these flowers because they're for you. they say you can't hear me but i don't care because deep inside i know you're there. your skin is pale and the machines beep but i know your heart is mine to keep. the line is about to go flat please don't go you're the one i call home the only one i know. your heart isn't beating now your skin is cold there goes my dreams of us growing old. these roses are red but my heart is blue and you left me now and i miss you.
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Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
hospital poem
if you've felt sad for a long time, that sadness that gnaws at you, and sometimes throws self-loathing in there, don't think for a single second, that not talking about will help anything. because it won't. if you face it alone, it's like fighting a whole army with nothing but a toothpick. and that's not very useful, isn't it? so think-- should you deal with this alone? or tell someone? talking doesn't make you weak, it's not talking that does. so if you open up about your feelings you'll feel a weight pull off your chest. sure, the misery will still be there, but at least someone knows. at least someone will help you. at least you will face an army with allies.
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Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC
silence isn't golden.
when you're accustomed to a habit, like, let's say smoking, or some other self-destructive outlet, you don't have to do it. just because you crave it whether it's the urge to throw up a meal or give yourself scars that will remind you that you're in a rough patch right now. you don't have to do it. it's your life. you are in control of it. so if you want to get away from your old life, and just keep on driving until you're far away from home, you can do it. just like you can deny the urge to bring a blade to your wrist or stick your fingers down your throat. so next time you want to do it, think. think that you don't have to do it, it's not mandatory. it's your body against your mind, and you're in control of both.
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Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
little steps.