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DG 5d
Our windows are weird
they are one way.
It's too dark in my room
and too bright outside.
So I can see outside.
You are sitting outside.
Maybe you're crying.
Maybe we couldn't stomach
yet another conversation.
I just hope you 'stomach-ed' your dinner.
I sit down on my bed right in front of you.
You can't see me.
It almost feels like we're having a conversation.
We're silent.
This means it's finally a conversation
we can stomach.
I'm too upset to edit or make this rhyme.
DG 5d
I haven't written in a while,
so I'm sorry if my words don't rhyme.
It's 2 am and I thought of you,
we were perfection but I
couldn't see it at that time.
It was 2 am in New York that night.
We were walking,
on our way home.
I didn't remember
the way home.
But I knew you did.
Never had a sip in our life,
but we looked very drunk.
You laughed at my jokes.
And I cried at yours.
My feet had bruises from those
god awful sandals so
I was wearing your sandals.
You were walking barefoot.
We can't walk like that anymore.
We're not in New York anymore.
And I remember my way home.
I don't wear sandals anymore.
And I don't think
I remember you anymore.
DG Jun 25
After thorough calculations there
are two possible outcomes of
arguing with my family:

Either one day the arguments will end patriarchy,
or one day the arguments will end me.
ignorance and world issues and poetry are messing with my mental health
DG Jun 20
How come
                ↪ people can
            find paths even
                at a dead end ↩
while my paths,
so clear, diverse and
    are cu
          -off by land
                                            and avalanches?
DG Jun 18
what is the point
of being cruel like this?
if life is nothing m°ore.
[email protected] a


                                   Ⱡ i

                                       T? C 
                                            卄 !!
DG Jun 18
Why did you pick death over me?
Was she prettier?
Was she smarter?
Did she treat you better?

So much better
that you won't ever
come back to me?
DG Jun 18
S c a t t e r e d and homesick
for a home that doesn't exist.
It smells like lunch and trees.
Like bookshelves and coffee.
Like laughter and honey.
I long for a home
and that is it.
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