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yasmeen
yasmeen
// comparison is the thief of joy//
i never felt at peace in the large white church with marble pieus and stain glass windows that scattered rubies and emeralds of light across the skin of my thighs i never felt at peace on my knees with head bowed in silence eyelids fluttering as i pretended to pray but the first time you took my hand in yours the loudest silence filled my ears as the voices in my head stopped their chatter and i wonder if anyone has ever told you that your voice is their church that the sound of your laugh is their holy water and that when you take their hand they feel as if they are being forgiven.
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Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
my church
everyone always says its supposed to feel like fireworks when he finally says those three words for the first time on a park bench, in his car, at a fast food restaurant after your senior prom but no one ever tells you that it'll feel like fireworks when he chokes out those three words for the last time and the explosions will get louder and louder as you watch his car drive away down your street and then suddenly silence
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Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
happy independence day
sometimes i see you kissing other girls in my sleep
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Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
confession #5
this morning i woke up with mascara smudges and a dry throat and salty lips i sat on a hard wooden kitchen chair as i read an article about the life cycle of a star i learned that the bigger and brighter the star the shorter its life, the brighter it burns the less time it has before an explosion destroys it from the inside out crushing it into pieces and propelling them into the universe as i read i found myself remembering the day you told me you loved me so much you could just explode and i wonder if maybe this whole supernova explosion thing applies to love because our love was bright and consuming and fast and ended in an explosion that destroyed me from the inside out crushed me into pieces that were propelled into the universe
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Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
supernova
our love is like salt in the wound glass on the pavement needles in the sand
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Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
confession #2
i watch the little red seatbelt sign flicker off the man next to me is asleep he has a british accent and smells like hotel soap my ears pop and i look at the clouds funny how clouds no longer seem so solid when you get so close to them (i guess people are like that, too) a lady in a polyester red blazer brings me ****** coffee and smiles i don't think she wants to be here i smile back its just me hotel soap guy (now snoring loudly) my notebook and the clouds this 53 minute flight is much too short and i don't want to come down
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Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
5:34 AM
the chair in his office was uncomfortable as was i when he pushed his wide-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose adjusted his stethoscope and asked why on earth i would want to have an eating disorder, my body was so beautiful his eyes lingering on my thighs a few seconds too long as he looked me up and down in that moment i didn't know whether to thank him or get out of the room as fast as possible i wanted to puke
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Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
ironic
i filled myself with sorrow but i still felt empty
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Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
yearning (10w)
you are not my sky not my moon not my air the smile on your face is not my sun and i am not its planet your freckles are not stars scattered across the night sky you are a person not a sky you aren't limitless your being does not surround my whole world you are not my world
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Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
you are not my sky
you are not a wilted tulip or a shattered porcelain doll the boy with piercing blue eyes and a lightning smile is not going to appear out of the fog and save you from yourself stop pushing your dinner to the edges of your plate don't make yourself less so that he will love you more you deserve so much better than a tear-stained pillow and a splitting headache you hang on his every word and fall at his feet spit on his scuffed up shoes and pick yourself up, sweetheart pour yourself a mug of black coffee watch the sun kiss the horizon good morning you are awake you are significant
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Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
Untitled