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  Apr 28 Cheyenne
Rochel
Please break my heart
So I don't have to break yours
I'd rather feel all that pain
Than be the one to make you endure

Please break my heart
So I can leave yours intact
I'd rather be haunted
Than have to hear you react

Please break my heart
So I can live with my decision
I'd rather lose all my tears
Than have tears disrupt your vision

Please break my heart
So I'm not the one serving time
Id rather feel completely caged
Than be the one to commit this crime

Please break my heart
So I can make sure you're OK
I'd rather lose my voice
Than listen to all you might say

This request might seem odd
I ask for you to do the downing
But if we're both stuck in this storm together
I'd rather be the one drowning
  Apr 28 Cheyenne
DElizabeth
won't listen to the songs
for they might make me call you.

that isn't the problem
but the possibility that you wouldn't want me to.

a dozen bells
could they possibly be you?

of course not, it's just that
'THERE IS A PERSON AT YOUR GARDEN'

the neighborhood cat
that occasionally makes the most beautiful bread

won't you just call...
so that i wouldn't have to

even if it's to say one word?
even if the word is no?
Cheyenne Apr 28
Today I am wearing lacy black underwear
for the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.
And underneath that?
I am absolutely naked.

     And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;
I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts like Saran Wrap
that you can see through to what leftovers are inside from the night before.

     And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough, nor is it bullet proof.
My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.
But that doesn’t matter, right?
You don’t care about how soft my skin is.
You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

     But what if all they do is crack open windows
So I can see lightning through the clouds?
What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?
What if all they reach for is a notebook to scribble not a hand to hold?
But that’s not the story you want.

     You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.
Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going in.
I don’t need to be the water in the well.
I don’t need to be the well.
But I’d like to not be, the ground anymore.
I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore... for something they can own.
...
     Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.
They find harmonies in their laughter.
Their linked elbows echo in tune.
What if I can’t hum on key?
What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

     Some people can recognize a tree,
A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.
How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?
How long before I’m lost for good.

     It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.
It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.
But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.
I keep finding stones tied to my feet.
I didn't write this poem! It's my favorite and I just thought I'd share it with all of the beautiful minds here!
Cheyenne Apr 25
If I hurt myself on purpose-
...
Would anyone even care?
Would they show compassion
And empathy?

Or be cold and bitter like this cruel world?
Would they turn their heads and pretend they don't see,
Or simply close their eyes at the sight of me?

Would I be a monster?
One to hide children from
And push away?

Maybe I should find the answers to my own questions.
Maybe I will.
Cheyenne Apr 25
When gods claimed her story was pre-written among  the stars,
She stormed up to the heavens.

She extinguished each burning fire with red,
Scorching hands.

The burning lights hold no claim over her head,
Nor her life.

The glittering night sky is hers now,
And she will carve into it with constellations of her own.
Cheyenne Apr 25
It's perfect,
My life.
Not a single worry to be found.

But when will it all fall apart?
When will I bolt out of bed
And realize it was never real?
This life of smiles
And laughter

It’s too perfect.
And feels too real,
Even as the corners fade to black.

Convinced:
Not awake,
I know I'm dreaming.

But the thing I dread most…
Is waking up.
How much longer do I have before the hourglass is empty?
How much farther can I tread before the road ends?

Not far, it seems.

The alarm screams at 6 am.
The fever dream shatters,
As I grasp at the jagged pieces.
I am dragged through my existence
In this dreary, gray world.
Until I fall back asleep.
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