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Genevieve Dec 2017
When I feel down
I like to think on all the phases in which I've loved you.
From the fragile flame of our brief beginnings,
To the tangled legs and songs of our second chance,
And I smile every time
I come back to the present,
And dwell in the me that belongs with you.
Genevieve Oct 2017
As the caterpillar sheds its skin
And digests itself

So too must I.
Genevieve Oct 2017
Was there ever a time
When fear and neurosis
Didn't slam dance their way out
Of the birdcage between my armpits?

When did my ears not ring with tinnitus
Lines on repeat like
"They don't care."
"You're worthless."

When did I stop treading water?
When did I start using loved ones as life rafts,
Shoving them beneath the surface
If only for one quick gasp of air?

When did the sadness get so immense,
It formed its own gravitational pull?
Like a black hole in space,
******* in all the surroundings.

When did I stop feeling like enough?

Like the moment a meteor earns its "-ite,"
Epiphany has struck and leaves a trail of realization.

All that remains
Is the decision to make things right.
In all the stress life can bring, I've found it's hard sometimes to keep my head up and in the right place. As a result, I've been a ****** friend, and it's time to start rebuilding.
Genevieve Oct 2017
I cannot tell anymore
If the silence he resonates
Is the defense he fronts
To keep the closing cage of commitment at bay
A gentle reprieve from the fears divebombing like magpies
Or if this new wave is the end.
If this darkness and muffled cries  
Are a direct correlation to my bad days
Overwhelming him
Forcing him in that car
Taking him hundreds of miles away
And telling me "I can't help you."

But he can't see
I never wanted him to ride in like a savior
I don't need to be rescued.
I just wanted to show him my soul
And for him to look, really look,

And tell me he loved me.
Genevieve Oct 2017
He told me he loved me once
I still do.
Genevieve Jul 2017
They told me what didn't **** me would make me stronger.
They lied.
What didn't **** me made me damaged,
Defective, unable to function at "acceptable" levels.
Traumatic experiences didn't build some great wall to fortify my resolutions in life
Instead, they shook my foundations with ferocity,
Slashing cracks down my walls, crumbling rooms to rubble

They planted bombs for later,
Little surprises once the aftershocks faded
With triggers tucked away safe, wrapped up like gifts.

No, what didn't **** me made me want to disappear
Over, and over, and over.
And even almost 7 years later,
There are still detonators being uncovered.

Sure, now I know the paths to avoid
The piles of broken memories, loneliness, and displacement
To keep out of sight.
And still,
There are some days, but mostly nights
When the bombs go off in succession
And I have to bring myself back from the dark
Over. And over. And over.

And there are some nights
Where I'm the one holding the switch
I'm the one willing my world to explode into shrapnel.
And someone else has to bring me back
Over. And over.

They lied.
What doesn't **** you doesn't make you stronger,
It makes you a survivor, even if you sometimes don't want to survive.
And it leaves you with the scars every survivor bears,
Seen and unseen.
Sometimes it genuinely surprises me what sets me off (and what makes me want to crawl up under rock).
Genevieve Jul 2017
There are secrets buried in the freckles on your elbow.
Stories, memories, dreams
All interwoven with epithelial cells and sunlight.

When I first realized I loved you
I found myself captivated by essence of star you carried in your skin
Like Sirius, embodied.
But now that my eyes have adjusted to your brilliance,
I instead ponder the depths of the tales each freckle could tell.
You are endless, intricate, effervescent man, you
Are your own night sky of constellations.

Tell me a story?
A love poem. Happy birthday, handsome.
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