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Anya Feb 2019
I can't fix how I talk
I can only fix what I mean
I can fix it
With an explanation.

I can't fix how I talk
I would never hurt you
I would never mean to.
I can only tell you what I meant to say.

I can't fix how I talk
I can only explain myself
My actions
My words

I want to fix how I talk
I don't want to hurt anyone
I don't want to say the wrong things
I don't want to say
What I don't mean.

I want to fix how I talk.
Anya Feb 2019
Hello,
Sweet Pity
I hate you
But you comfort me.

Don't feel bad
But show me you care.
Don't fear for me
But show me you're scared.

Don't pity me,
But do.
I don't,
But I need you.

I need to feel alive
I need to be cared for
I need to be dangerous
So life isn't a bore.

I scare myself
So be scared with me.
I put on a smile
But I'm not so free.

So don't pity me,
Don't pity my pain
Don't feel bad for me
Don't feel scared for me

But please do.
I need you to.
I struggle between wanting people to feel badly for me, and care for me, and wanting to put on a strong front when I don't feel my best.
Anya Jan 2019
In his arms
I am safe.
It feels right
When he speaks my name.
When we kiss
The stars align.
I thought...
He was only mine.

But he's no one.
And he's no one's.

Through all the trust,
I thought I was safe.
But with all the trust,
Came only pain.

Pain so great it blinded me
Pain so great it changed me
Love so great it binded me.
Love so great it chained me.

My wings were stripped
And burned to ashes
The only happy moments in life
Turned to flashes.

My sanity wiped
Completely away
And all the darkness
Here to stay

I hurt.
Another fairly raw poem. This one was written the day of the breakup after 3 years of being together. It was earth-shattering, and this was the only way I could get my feelings out.
Anya Jan 2019
I used to just fly
But now I'm falling
On the ride down
The sweet ground is calling

What's better?
To burn or to crash?
Either way,
I'm transforming to ash.

I feel pain
But I don't.
I feel numb
But I don't.
I want to cry
But I won't.
I want to try
But I won't.

I'm starting
To see myself
As just another book
On your 10-story shelves.

I'm dying inside
Being eaten alive
By this sensation.

This unending suffering...
Is your creation.
This was a pretty raw poem I wrote after a 3-year breakup.

— The End —