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Delta Swingline Mar 2017
Hi!

My name is ___ and I'm _ years old. My favourite subject is ___ and I like to ____ in my spare time. I believe in __ and from time to time I also go ___.

My family is pretty cool, I've got siblings and I really enjoy my time with my family. My father however is currently ___ and my mom is trying to cope with that.

My school is very
___, but I enjoy being there anyway. My friends are very ___ and I enjoy my time at school, it's a nice time to enjoy my own existence in a building.

But you don't want to live my life. It's too
____. Underneath this skin lies the ___ I try to hide. I'm constantly ___ and ___.

Why am I just so
___ with this?!

You don't know how much I go through. You barely know me. There is always information lost in translation. You shouldn't feel bad that you don't know me. How could you? You're missing something. I can tell you what it is.

You-- are missing
____.
There are too many things that we didn't say until it really was too late.
Delta Swingline Mar 2017
Definition of Selfless:* Putting others before yourself to the point where "you" don't matter anymore.

Definition of Pain: One of the two things that I believe all people have in common. The other thing? Love.

Definition of Love:  --ERROR-- Lost in translation.

Definition of Nothing: Nothing...

Definition of Feeling You've got tons of it don't you?

...

Don't you?

Definition of Me: A personal title I call myself. Also known as *"you"
in a sense.

High and mighty and greater than "you".

Because "me", a self proclaimed name that doesn't deserve its definition. Because "I" am hurt, and in "pain", and out of "love", and too "selfless" to take care of "me". So that makes "me"...

*"Nothing."
Go on... Define me.
Delta Swingline Mar 2017
I could write a meaningful story with a meaningful message for you to carry with you into the future and beyond.

No, I don't think I have enough time to create a picture in your mind of what I have to say.

There is nothing to gain or give to the words I write in the time I have left.

How about 5?

< 5. Would you be able to pull this off by then?

I can't and I have < 10.

Maybe it's easy for you, but accept the fact that it is not easy to write good poetry with purpose and meaning and feeling and anything that is important to you in < 10 minutes...
Yes, I really did write this in 10 minutes...
Delta Swingline Mar 2017
It's 10:00 at night and it's been at least a half hour since you've eaten something. You make your way to the kitchen, empty bowl in hand. You place the bowl with the ***** dishes and the world slows down as you turn to see the small container with your name on it...

I hate it.

You grab a glass of juice and stare at the container down. As if the black that so neatly stamps your name could stare back. You open the kid proof cap and pour out half its contents into your dominant hand.

Just to feel the weight of death in you dominant hand. "Take 2 twice daily." They said.

The half orange, half yellow capsules still in my palm. Feeling the plastic-like coating I feel like I could crush in 2 seconds flat.

Freeze.

Time stops.

This, is when the protagonist eats as many pills as her body will allow, when she gives in, when she dies. This movie is almost over...

Nobody else is awake, it's just you and your handful of pills.

No.

This movie goes on, the protagonist will live.

You-- are not built on a mountain of clichés and stereotypical archetypes.

You.
Are.
Here.

And still alive!

You pour the pills back into the container, with 4 still left in you hand. You take 2 but you still feel like it's stuck in your throat, so you eat something small to force it down. Even though these pills are supposed to be take on an empty stomach...

You get a glass of water, and set that aside with the 2 remaining pills for tomorrow morning.

Now go to sleep, make sure this protagonist lives to take the Hollywood medication tomorrow.
Back when I suffered from intense ****** dermatitis, these pills were not the solution I asked for. So no, even if they did seem awful, they would not **** me.
Delta Swingline Mar 2017
Not a poet.
Not a poet.
Not a poet.
And I know it.
I wrote this last year... I think I had some poetic problems.
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