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marleny
21/Non-binary/American i write shit just to write thanks for reading
... I let myself exhale, And then lifted my head And saw you Your face a mixture of pleasure And Worry All captured between the soft glow Of a lamp that did not belong to us And a shadow that belonged to the night sky. Furrowed brows, flushed cheeks, and a smile that became unsteadied by a blossoming happiness, and dread. I knew it all too well myself. "Thinking about old fears?" I asked, trying to balance softness with the intensity of the conversation I was embarking. My breathing was calm and even, but I felt buzzing underneath my skin, goosebumps sprinkling across exposed flesh in waves. Your vulnerability has often asked for mine in return. You nodded, "Yeah," with a too perfect smile still on your face, your eyes shut tight, and your head turned to the side, As if you were telling yourself that you were being ridiculous before I could. How many times have you had that silent conversation with yourself? I would have asked... but that was for another time. Instead, I moved my head a little to the side to mimic yours, and brushed my nose against yours, pressed my lips against yours, and sighed. I think I said I loved you. I think I gave another "my heart belongs to you" speech, I think the contents of my heart overflowed into yours, But all I remembered was seeing you cry. Your big stormy eyes welled up, and tears fell, and you gasped And hips almost stirred again Almost went looking for the friction we created. I slid my thumb across your face, tutted lowly into your ear, and let my full weight rest ontop of you. My arms wrapped around the valleys of your torso, clutching you closer as the outlines that separated our bodies began to disappear. Until your bones became my bones, And the wounds you were tending to became my healed scars. We only had days to be together, but our nights were infinite.
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Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 10:31 PM UTC
Tending to Your Bones
... I let myself exhale, And then lifted my head And saw you Your face a mixture of pleasure And Worry All captured between the soft glow Of a lamp that did not belong to us And a shadow that belonged to the night sky. Furrowed brows, flushed cheeks, and a smile that became unsteadied by a blossoming happiness, and dread. I knew it all too well myself. "Thinking about old fears?" I asked, trying to balance softness with the intensity of the conversation I was embarking. My breathing was calm and even, but I felt buzzing underneath my skin, goosebumps sprinkling across exposed flesh in waves. Your vulnerability has often asked for mine in return. You nodded, "Yeah," with a too perfect smile still on your face, your eyes shut tight, and your head turned to the side, As if you were telling yourself that you were being ridiculous before I could. How many times have you had that silent conversation with yourself? I would have asked... but that was for another time. Instead, I moved my head a little to the side to mimic yours, and brushed my nose against yours, pressed my lips against yours, and sighed. I think I said I loved you. I think I gave another "my heart belongs to you" speech, I think the contents of my heart overflowed into yours, But all I remembered was seeing you cry. Your big stormy eyes welled up, and tears fell, and you gasped And hips almost stirred again Almost went looking for the friction we created. I slid my thumb across your face, tutted lowly into your ear, and let my full weight rest ontop of you. My arms wrapped around the valleys of your torso, clutching you closer as the outlines that separated our bodies began to disappear. Until your bones became my bones, And the wounds you were tending to became my healed scars. We only had days to be together, but our nights were infinite.
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32
How can I make these whites as uncomfortable as they make me? Comparing skintones during the summer like there's anything to compare to, y'all just wanna brag about how brown y'all like to get without having to live like a ***** Some masturbatory self **** too pretentious to go to a tanning booth, but too cheap to treat ya skin right, Y'all know that sunscreen is a must, but all I can think about when I go to the beach is tomato soup. Y'all are the real red skins, but still dare to call yourself dark when y'all don't know what shade is. I can sit under an umbrella with long sleeves all day and still be brown by the time Autumn dries out the Summer leaves, I know y'all can't say the same. Does it make you uncomfortable that I can other y'all? White folk. Cracka. ***** Yall think that those are slurs? Where's the censor on TV then? Where's the national outrage? There isn't! But then when it comes to ***** oh then that's everybody's word. Like how ****** used to be everybody's word. Like how between ya ma-n-pops, they talk about how violent we ******* is... And y'all just listen... Complacent or uncaring, but still daring to say you're different. Cut from a different cloth, you people got some nerve. And yes, you people, as in you white folk. Y'all better collect y'all's trash, like how incarcerated ****** collect it off the side of busy roads for free cos slavery never ended as neatly as y'all think it did. Will y'all ever be uncomfortable over the right things? Over black children being set up to go to prison from the moment they enter school because teachers give them more suspensions and detentions than anyone else? That the FBI was found guilty of murdering Martin Luther King and has harassed him til he was shot? That Lincoln never really cared about us ******* just wanted to win the war and ******* the south, no matter who suffered the most? My fellow Americans, white that is, because in the census you're accepted as an American without question, Y'all don't know the meaning of discomfort.
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Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 12:34 AM UTC
My America
How can I make these whites as uncomfortable as they make me? Comparing skintones during the summer like there's anything to compare to, y'all just wanna brag about how brown y'all like to get without having to live like a ***** Some masturbatory self **** too pretentious to go to a tanning booth, but too cheap to treat ya skin right, Y'all know that sunscreen is a must, but all I can think about when I go to the beach is tomato soup. Y'all are the real red skins, but still dare to call yourself dark when y'all don't know what shade is. I can sit under an umbrella with long sleeves all day and still be brown by the time Autumn dries out the Summer leaves, I know y'all can't say the same. Does it make you uncomfortable that I can other y'all? White folk. Cracka. ***** Yall think that those are slurs? Where's the censor on TV then? Where's the national outrage? There isn't! But then when it comes to ***** oh then that's everybody's word. Like how ****** used to be everybody's word. Like how between ya ma-n-pops, they talk about how violent we ******* is... And y'all just listen... Complacent or uncaring, but still daring to say you're different. Cut from a different cloth, you people got some nerve. And yes, you people, as in you white folk. Y'all better collect y'all's trash, like how incarcerated ****** collect it off the side of busy roads for free cos slavery never ended as neatly as y'all think it did. Will y'all ever be uncomfortable over the right things? Over black children being set up to go to prison from the moment they enter school because teachers give them more suspensions and detentions than anyone else? That the FBI was found guilty of murdering Martin Luther King and has harassed him til he was shot? That Lincoln never really cared about us ******* just wanted to win the war and ******* the south, no matter who suffered the most? My fellow Americans, white that is, because in the census you're accepted as an American without question, Y'all don't know the meaning of discomfort.
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14
Heart break is the seed that pollinates from chest to chest. So it should not come as a surprise when a crimson rose blossoms behind the sternum with a wealth of thorns surrounding it. Evolution has dictated that If anyone comes too close, they will get pricked in the process. A subtle form of protection, but also a warning. A "Come no further than this." --- The thing about roses is that they are capable of self pollinating. Sometimes we just do this to ourselves. We get off to our own misery, and as crude as that sounds, for a lot of us, that has been the truth. A broken heart can only protect itself the best way it knows how, but when did protection become repression? It is too easy for the same thorns that defend the rose to become its own enemy, choking the flower out of the nutrients it needs. We can justify all we want that if somebody truly wanted to pick us first to put us first, then they should be able to withstand a little pain to reach us... And some do, but should that be the standard, to hurt someone and see if they stay? That is how cross pollination occurs. We **** around and hurt people by refusing vulnerability that is owed to them. And after all the ******** the other person can heal and grow stronger from the experience, or the rose they have wilts and a new one blooms in its place, one that contains undesirable characteristics that would not have existed if we had just loved openly in the first place. Heart break should not beget heart break... Why do roses symbolize love anyway?
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Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 4:54 PM UTC
Emotional Botany - lesson 27
Heart break is the seed that pollinates from chest to chest. So it should not come as a surprise when a crimson rose blossoms behind the sternum with a wealth of thorns surrounding it. Evolution has dictated that If anyone comes too close, they will get pricked in the process. A subtle form of protection, but also a warning. A "Come no further than this." --- The thing about roses is that they are capable of self pollinating. Sometimes we just do this to ourselves. We get off to our own misery, and as crude as that sounds, for a lot of us, that has been the truth. A broken heart can only protect itself the best way it knows how, but when did protection become repression? It is too easy for the same thorns that defend the rose to become its own enemy, choking the flower out of the nutrients it needs. We can justify all we want that if somebody truly wanted to pick us first to put us first, then they should be able to withstand a little pain to reach us... And some do, but should that be the standard, to hurt someone and see if they stay? That is how cross pollination occurs. We **** around and hurt people by refusing vulnerability that is owed to them. And after all the ******** the other person can heal and grow stronger from the experience, or the rose they have wilts and a new one blooms in its place, one that contains undesirable characteristics that would not have existed if we had just loved openly in the first place. Heart break should not beget heart break... Why do roses symbolize love anyway?
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46
I wonder... If love is more of a decision, than it is a feeling. Or that it's a constant fluctuating Combination of the two? The increased rate of My heart beat when we talk, The sudden invasive spike Of insecurity when I take my Clothes off for him Or how seeing him smile Sets the precedent of my day, I can't Control how I react, But surely these are signs of Love? Feelings and emotions Yes? But these feelings come and Go, one day his smile might not Make me pause in my tracks Like it does now, One day, I won't care if he sees My body unclothed, One day, his voice will cease to Excite me, But will I still choose him Will I not only stay But refuse to leave his side Will I stay loyal And remain faithful And cry when I'm hurt And let the pain flow Right against his blood cells To mine own Will I still remember his Favorite teas are spearmint And peppermint Or that despite playing various Instruments throughout His life he still can't read sheet Music but he can Still read me Or that when he's drunk He's more open and He sends pictures where he smiles More Or that he needs to hear my Voice to fall asleep Or that he feels desperate And clingy sometimes Despite me desperately Clinging onto him Trying to to not trap him But grab his attention Everytime I sigh because I love him so much It's a choice. I choose to love him. And I will always choose him.
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Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 6:34 PM UTC
Boutta Boo
All I do is make My loved ones cry Or feel inadequate I can only assume. I speak of bad, I bring up difficult Subjects like the Prospect of separation Or that loneliness Is not something we Can control, or that pain From distance is inevitable. I always have to bring Up the things no one wants To talk about, I just don't Want to be without a plan. I am not one for foresight, I'm blind to my own senses That I can confuse for Righteousness, I know. But I hurt too, my throat Closes and my eyes sting Like theirs do, I'm not Without emotion. My problem is that I'm too sensitive, and I Rather protect myself Than be exposed.
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Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 3:18 AM UTC
Not Okay
His words are slow as he tries to command them into coherentness, they're still slurred. The lines are blurred, like wet ink running down on paper he's messy messy messy He says he loves me the words come out tangled but enthusiastic there's no pain in them. He says it again, his heart must feel unguarded, he must feel comfortable to say it again without pause. "Are you drunk?"   yes, I'm very intoxicated. That's to be expected this **** ain't complicated. Do I take advantage of his drunkenness and ask him to continue saying  he loves me? Or do I wait until he's dry, tell him I love him, expect silence as my reply, and another piece of my heart broken? Because when he eventually says it back, his voice will crack. And I'll feel Guilty for wanting to be loved like that. It's not his fault, I'll say, Everybody can't say it back. Be patient, I'll remind myself. I'll remind myself, I'll remind, remind He only loves me when he's inebriated. He's drunk in love with me, how the hell did this **** happen? As I listen to him snore over the phone, I know I'm in his dreams. And maybe he's sober when he says he loves me.
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Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC
**
**** you, dad. How can you destroy me Just by speaking? One two, one two Each word chosen specifically to rack up the most damage. To leave me winded after every conversation. Despite the language barrier, you still manage to use me as your punching bag. Verbal assaults leaving bruises into my confidence as easily as you roll your R's. One two, one two You have beaten into me That I am not enough for you Or for anybody One too many times. But I still love you - Through and through. - **** you, David. What happened to having my back? You know how spineless I can be. I am a mess around Daddy Dearest. And I know that he loves me Dearly. But clearly, we don't see Eye to eye. Your advantage in height does not give you the right to look down on me. I know you try to understand me, but sometimes I know you Won't.   And sometimes, you just Don't. Refusing to meet me half way or being unable to do so.. I cannot seem to choose which of the two are worse. You're my baby brother, **** used to be so different. Mom and dad used to be together And siempre meant forever But life is not like that, No, not really. Never. We tethered moments to Permanence.   And look where that left us. We laugh and we fight. At opposite ends only to return to each other's side. - **** you, Blake and Q-tip. What is this friendship, am I supposed to hate y'all? Y'all drink And I'm intoxicated. Y'all smoke And I get light headed. Y'all breathe And I'd gasp along with y'all. We were inseparable. Like magnets. Except now we're just Far too opposite to Even attract anymore. I tried to leave before y'all left me, but I still felt abandoned and I feel like I was never part of something so close knit. I was a loose string on the woven tapestry that y'all've made without me. And so I wonder if I ever belonged in the first place. or did I just follow behind refusing to see the shadows where there wasn't sun. I'd still pick up the phone and Talk like I'm still worth y'alls time. - The worst thing about Having a fragile heart is The ability to break your Own With just as much abuse And neglect And selfishness that everyone Else had. Sometimes, you break Your own heart Much worse Than anybody else could. And it would mend Itself together just to be Broken again.
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Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 11:54 PM UTC
Heartbreakers
**** you, dad. How can you destroy me Just by speaking? One two, one two Each word chosen specifically to rack up the most damage. To leave me winded after every conversation. Despite the language barrier, you still manage to use me as your punching bag. Verbal assaults leaving bruises into my confidence as easily as you roll your R's. One two, one two You have beaten into me That I am not enough for you Or for anybody One too many times. But I still love you - Through and through. - **** you, David. What happened to having my back? You know how spineless I can be. I am a mess around Daddy Dearest. And I know that he loves me Dearly. But clearly, we don't see Eye to eye. Your advantage in height does not give you the right to look down on me. I know you try to understand me, but sometimes I know you Won't.   And sometimes, you just Don't. Refusing to meet me half way or being unable to do so.. I cannot seem to choose which of the two are worse. You're my baby brother, **** used to be so different. Mom and dad used to be together And siempre meant forever But life is not like that, No, not really. Never. We tethered moments to Permanence.   And look where that left us. We laugh and we fight. At opposite ends only to return to each other's side. - **** you, Blake and Q-tip. What is this friendship, am I supposed to hate y'all? Y'all drink And I'm intoxicated. Y'all smoke And I get light headed. Y'all breathe And I'd gasp along with y'all. We were inseparable. Like magnets. Except now we're just Far too opposite to Even attract anymore. I tried to leave before y'all left me, but I still felt abandoned and I feel like I was never part of something so close knit. I was a loose string on the woven tapestry that y'all've made without me. And so I wonder if I ever belonged in the first place. or did I just follow behind refusing to see the shadows where there wasn't sun. I'd still pick up the phone and Talk like I'm still worth y'alls time. - The worst thing about Having a fragile heart is The ability to break your Own With just as much abuse And neglect And selfishness that everyone Else had. Sometimes, you break Your own heart Much worse Than anybody else could. And it would mend Itself together just to be Broken again.
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109
He is all encompassing. His fire propelling sustainablity In a place that's void of oxygen. A foreign body against domestic needs. How can I appreciate his presence in my life, but fear him all the same? Maybe it is just me, but it feels as if I let myself cook in his heat. As if I make myself absorb his rays with no protection. Que lástima. The things I have to do to not go up in smoke quema, to not be charred, quema, to not turn into a crisp, ¿Que más? His understanding is beyond my reach. Miles and miles over my head, over to the beyond where I cannot breathe. Yet he still manages to reach me (always had and forever will) I want to face this aspect of my reality, but no matter how hard I try to make eye contact, I must look away... My father casts his burning gaze upon me again, expecting answers to questions he has not even asked me yet. It is physically taxing to even swallow, much less to move around in the environment he created. Every step I take around him sizzles as flesh makes contact with pavement. What must I do to win back your favor, Inti? What part of myself must I sacrifice to appease you? To avoid being set aflame, I do what comes second nature to me now. My eyes close in search of shade, to preserve the reservoir that my father has yet to dry up.   And all I see is orange.
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Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
Como el Sol (Like the Sun)
my boy's got me tongue tied in two different languages he's calling me baby on mondays and sinta 'til sundays he's got me looking for him in between eskinitas and cathedrals from quezon avenue to intramuros all i see are his eyes and 7,107 islands in the palms of his hands and i never knew love could be so hard when your words ran faster than your heart makata is what they call you a master of poetry and performance you called me your greatest work and you are a master of fiction manileño is what you are my boy's got manila's grime and glory pulsing through his makata veins he's got makati's lights burning through his irises he's got the danger of manila beating in his chest he's got the cries of san juan lodged in his throat he's got the rhythm of the city in every step my boy's still a boy hijo is what you think you aren't he's got three stars on his back and he thinks he's the sun he thinks he can change the world himagsikan is what he wants a revolution beginning with him but tell me makata, manileño, hijo, my boy how are you going to save me? how are you going to love this country? my boy's tongue tied in two different faiths my boy forgot to save himself
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Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC
my manila boy
Feeling reminiscent for something I have not experienced before. I am longing for something that I could not possibly recollect - Out of my reach / too terribly close for comfort. It's like a hurt without all of the pain. My heart's feelin heavy for a burden that's not mine to carry. Kinda scary how sympathy seeps straight through me that way. I don't understand it: How I grieve for others though their suffering is foreign to me. Why does their anguish feel more at home than my own? Does the intensity vary? Oh, rarely, but not unfamiliar. It's a curse to be wistful of an unknown - an invisible twist of a knife and the stab's dulled. I am juxtaposed I suppose - when you feel so much, everyone's aches start to run similar.
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Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
Misplaced Nostalgia