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 Jun 19 Kalliope
Stephanie
Hello,
My name is Steph
And I am a domestic violence survivor.

I remember telling a Social Worker
That I was just collecting evidence
For my own ****** trial.

There were too many days
Where I truly expected
To die.

Once upon a time,
Common things like white trucks
And orange safety gear
And every single noise
Sent a shiver of panic
Down my spine.

Now I think about it less,
More like when a student
Tells me about her situation
And that she feels trapped,
Just like I did.

I guess this is what we call
Healing.
 Jun 19 Kalliope
apricot
LHAS
 Jun 19 Kalliope
apricot
A bird in a cage
i thought you were made for me
live in black and white
a simple haiku
 Jun 19 Kalliope
lizie
there’s a difference
between loving someone
and being in love with them.

i know that now.
because i love you,
in the way that feels steady,
in the way i’d hold your hand through anything,
in the way you live in my days
without needing to try.

but i am also in love with you.
and that’s different.

that’s why i think of you
when my legs ache
and my chest burns
and i want to quit,
because once,
you said pain means progress.
and somehow, that stayed.

it’s why your laugh feels like sunlight.
why the shape of your name
sits softly in the back of my throat
when i’m too shy to say it.
why i memorize your voice
like it’s the only music
i’ll ever need to hear again.

being in love means
i don’t just want you near me,
i want to be seen by you.
known by you.
still wanted anyway.

and that’s what scares me.
not the loving,
but how deeply i feel it.
how much i want to deserve it.
how quiet the ache gets
when you say my name
like i’ve never been too much.

there’s a difference.
and i know it
because i love you,
and i am in love with you.

and that truth
doesn’t hurt
quite like it used to.
I've known rejection
It bore deep into my heart
Left a nasty scar.
 Jun 19 Kalliope
am
Sometimes I step into the wrong hallway,
and a smell hits me.
Its far away, barley there,
and suddenly I can feel my mother's hands in my hair.
I can see the rays of summer's sun filtering beneath my cousin's eyes and colouring them hazel.
I stare in awe, and she paints my nails, as I lie with my cheek against the wooden floor.
I am watching my father, taller than he ever was, and the tea I've spilled is turning cold against the table.
childhood
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