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Atticus Aug 2017
I study the curvature of your spine
and the lines of your body

glances that last no more than a
couple of seconds

glances that are unbeknownst to you
fighting the internal battle

I have two armies

ready for all out war
red versus blue

heart versus mind
their bullets leave

holes in my soul
healing only to

be re opened again
for you are a

warrior of your own kind
weathered down by the

corrosive waters that
we call life

you have two stones on
your shoulders

and a library of books
resting on your spine

and i want to carry them
for you

because darling you are a
beautiful rose

with thorns like two sided
blades

made to keep people out
and to keep you inside

the prison you call your
mind

unable to prune those thorns
i can only study

the ever growing shadows
under your eyes

and the dryness of
your lips

you built a plaster cast
over your most vulnerable parts

waiting for the person
who will fight the pain

of pruning your thorns
for darling

you are a shell of what
you once were

and all i can do is watch
you recede into yourself
Atticus Jul 2017
Stifling heat, sheets on the floor

Muffled screams and thrashing arms

Trapped in a nightmare

Can't wake up

Breath gone from chest and s i l e n t  tears

Eyes snap open

Rising up from the seafloor

Films of sweat

Tear tracks on cheeks
Atticus Jul 2017
Skin that is not my own

Hunched shoulders and stifling bones

Bound chests turned to modelling clay

Scars  l e f  t  on skin



Gone and born again
Atticus Jul 2017
She walked on coals to feel the warmth, the warmth that had been stolen from her soul. Flint against steel, sparks dying . Burnt fingertips and blistered skin.

Then she found the one to build up her fire, the one who had the power to produce flames through their hands. Igniting the spots their fingertips touched.

But then the fire was gone, stolen heat burning her from the inside out. Stifling heat overtaking her mind and soul.

Too much to bear, she extinguished her flame. Only ash, no more burns.

No more kindling.
Atticus May 2017
Your pink mouth screaming at me to get out, my ragged breaths as I ran up the stairs.

Why oh why did God make me this way if I was a mistake?

My aching heart drags my heavy feet onward, the rain soaks my already numb body.

Why was I born this way?

The lit up building like a beacon, a smiling face a listening ear.

They tell me i'm not broken or weird, they tell me that I am normal and that there are others like me.

They are a samaritan on a dirt road that seems as if it will lead to nowhere, picking me up from the ditch that is my soul.

It's on the first day I meet them, just like me they too feel like they're  in the wrong shell.

I tell them that I am a snake wanting to shed my skin but the angry and hurtful words glue my skin onto my too loud skeleton like a cocoon.

They offer words of support and a welcome environment, they are like the family that I and many others never had.

It is after my first month there that I get a job, a job that can help me on my journey. It is also here that they call me by my true name.

My mind and body are making a peace treaty, an alliance of my sanity. I learn to love ‘me’.

No longer a he and now a she.

      I am finally free to be me.

           Love and faith are the keys.

               For I am finally free
Atticus Nov 2016
I am a constantly changing tide, feeling one way in one moment and another in the next.
I wonder about the stars, burning meteorites that are slowly sizzling out.
I hear the clock, a sound of wasted moments in time tick, tick, ticking.
I see the good in people no matter whom; human beings do things for a reason wether its love, fear or safety.
I want to feel comfortable in my skin and for my brain to be able to come up for air.
I am a constantly changing tide, feeling one way in one moment and another in the next.

I pretend to stay calm while inside my mind the whirring windmill keeps turning.
I feel the need to be like a flower opening myself up to the suns positivity and blocking out the negatives.
I touch the little bird nestled in my chest urging it to fly to freedom.
I worry for events that may never happen riding the wave of panic until it dwindles.
I cry for moments where I didn’t take the leap, times of fear that limited me.
I am a constantly changing tide, feeling one way in one moment and another in the next.

I understand that it won’t always be ok and that during these times the little bird may falter.
I say that it’s going to be alright and that this moment shall pass.
I dream of the day the little bird finds its wings, finally taking flight.
I try to inspire others, teaching them to find their inner birds.
I hope to someday inspire others, to make a world of birds free to fly.
I am a constantly changing tide, feeling one way in one moment and another in the next.
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