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prncssjuli
prncssjuli
one should always be drunk, / that’s all that matters, but with what? / with wine, poetry or love, / as you choose; get drunk. / -charles baudelaire
you want to go off into the military, and i am sad that i am not enough to make you stay.
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Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
dear soldier
i would give the world to an author who could erase me for a couple of days. just so that i could sit on the tallest mountain drink my tea and catch up on the books i have yet to read. just so that i could be with you once again, and this time I'll be alone just like i was our entire relationship
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Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
bleak
i will not be drowning my sorrows in amber liquid and insulting my husband without a single glance or touch at 59 nor will i be be working two jobs at 55 for my daughter to afford UBC tuition and maybe eat four vegetables a week. i will be something more than this.
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Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
i will not be
i was thinking back to how we got started and realized i never told anyone the story of us. we met on a saturday at a party i was dragged to and you were there because you were the host. it was the standard party with joints and kegs and i remember seeing you do a toast while you were standing on the couch with a red cup. you pointed out a girl in the crowd and said, "to the ******* absolute mistake of falling in love with your ******* best ******* friend. **** and to the pretty girls who won't rescue me. drink up." and i realized you were an exquisite human being, even in my drunken state i knew you were special. we met on september 2nd, the first day of school, in homeroom, and you didn't remember or talk to me while i memorized the colour of your eyes and the curve your lips and the sturdiness of your jaw throughout the year. we met again at the same party a year ago and, as it's said, the rest was history.
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Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
before the storm
i do not have a home. i do not live in the one you imagined for us - no condominium or house, just a basement apartment, rented each month for nine hundred and fifty dollars, filled with furniture and memories that don't belong to me and two tiny windows that make it all seem fine, like, someday, i'll graduate and move onto better, bigger and better things that i am currently working my *** off for - only hoping i don't regret it. this basement apartment (if you can even call it that) is cold and lonely and nothing like how i wish to be. home isn't a person or a place, it is just an illusion people have created to feel happy and safe and at peace with the world. home does not exist for me.
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Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
mothers imagination
He is the extraordinary one, the one who grew wings and flew away. Went to the City of Angels to prove to me that he belonged in that atmosphere. He took my heart and shattered it into a million tiny pieces, reached into my body and dug his fingers into my organs to empty out all the blood and bad in them. He emptied my translucent veins out onto the cold bathroom floor, making me cold like stone, unable to move and see and breathe, without as so much as an apology. He was the humming in my veins, but I wasn't even the ******* dust on his  f i n g e r t i p s. & if he was to fly back to me and smile that smug smile of his, I'd let him hurt and empty me all over again.
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Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 7:40 AM UTC
Type of boy