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it's four a.m. and i'm craving my best friend

i want the unconditional love
that makes up for heated arguments

i want to hear the story behind every scar

i want to see the side
no one else sees

i want to see your psyche torn
open for me to embrace

i want to feel black curls against
my fingertips and
warm mouth pressed against my own

regretful secrets

if the boy who was
infatuated
with me were still here
who knows what i would do

but for now it's four a.m.
and when i wake up
reality will smother us
it kills me to say this
but i've forgotten what your voice sounds like

it's been twenty-one days
and i am alive
(sometimes)

i want to drown myself in drugs
i want to drown myself in Jesus
i want to drown myself in self-loathing
i want to drown myself in you

the thought of kissing you
brought me solace on
sleepless nights
now it's the source of
my worst nightmares

i tried making dreams my reality
and reality my dreams
but you haunt every crack and crevice
of my being
i can't dust the places i can't reach

i am not well.
three
i admire daddy for shooting a big buck. i name the deer "sparky."

four
my favorite part about school is learning to read books all by myself.

six
i don't let mama pick out my clothes anymore. my favorite outfit is purple sweatpants with a red sweater.

seven
i got detention for spitting on a boy. i cried for weeks.

ten*
my best friend in the world moved an hour away. at least i still have harry potter and despereaux to keep me company.

eleven
the boy who plays the lead in the musical is the cutest boy i've ever seen.

twelve
the boy who played the lead in the musical likes me back.

thirteen
i catch myself staring absently at walls often. i'm disgusted with my body. i haven't eaten in days. my chest always aches. i've lost most of my friends because they've grown annoyed with how much time i spend with a boy. i'm never happy unless i'm with him. he's my whole world.

fourteen
the boy who played the lead in the musical shattered me. i don't want to be alive. i keep leaning over the toilet trying to get rid of what's eating me from the inside out, but nothing ever comes up. he promises we will always be friends. i stay up late screaming every night.

fifteen
a boy pushed me up against the wall and kissed me. he's dated tons of girls, but he thinks i'm different. he likes to read and listen to music. he says i'm the best kisser. he distracts me from the pain, and i'm constantly afraid he's going to leave me without ever speaking a word to me again. i'm so afraid, i stop focusing in class. the boy who played the lead in the musical hasn't talked to me since he walked me to the school counselor a year ago.

sixteen
my big group of friends and i go to dinner at applebee's. i just got my driver's license and a black 1999 oldsmobile alero. i have a few people i can go to if i can't do it alone. i can pull myself back after a relapse. i don't depend my life on anyone but myself. i might just be a bit numb, but things haven't been this great in a long time.
Today is my sixteenth birthday and I wanted to write something about it. I've come a long way. It's also interesting (and somewhat saddening) how much our thoughts change as we age. I don't expect this to get many views, it's more for me to look back on to remind myself how much I've been through.
Place your words across my body
Like a crossword

1 down
your hair on my shoulder when I sleep

7 across
The curve in your clavicle

14 across
Answers to prayers we have not made yet

2 down
Forgive my jaw for hitting the floor

11 down
Love

11 down
Unknown

11 down
Promise

11 down
My vision is blurry
A little differnt
on the paper
newly minted,
first time printed

causal pausation
assessment momentation
review, the second inclination,
then scrap-heaped,
in much bad company filed
retained, reserved, preserved,
for another go round,
another someday

you look at your hands,
telling them straight,
not good enough,
is not good enough
anymore

do try, so try,
three lines, four stanzas,
elegies and funerals
don't become you,
go into labor,
write labored
and birth free flowingly
knowing,
that all knowing glowing,
of a poem child,
product of
good enough
Bench Yourself

pensive, a quiet time,
yet, burning sensation
in the limbs,
but not in the one
that matters

the eyes function
the fingers flex,
breathing regular,
the words stuck
in an unapproachable place

you bench yourself,
let the backups play,
head in the game,
not today
White with daisies and red with sorrel
  And empty, empty under the sky!—
Life is a quest and love a quarrel—
  Here is a place for me to lie.

Daisies spring from ****** seeds,
  And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
  Cursed by farmers thriftily.

But here, unhated for an hour,
  The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
The daisy stands, a ******* flower,
  Like flowers that bear an honest name.

And here a while, where no wind brings
  The baying of a pack athirst,
May sleep the sleep of blessed things,
  The blood too bright, the brow accurst.
~~~


trees
letting
their
red hair
turn

snow white



(c) soulsurvivor
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\(*!*)/
I think
sometimes
I bring you up
in conversations
just so my lips
can form your name
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