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Lyndsey Feb 2023
I’m lying in bed burying myself under pillows and blankets, 

hoping if I tunnel far enough I’ll find Narnia or Wonderland; Hell, Middle Earth would do. 

I didn’t always want to run away but it seems that’s all I can think of these days.

This place has never felt like home, I’ve never felt like I belong.

I’ve always felt more like a flower growing where flowers shouldn’t be able to bloom.

Too delicate for my surroundings but resilient enough to keep sprouting each year.

I dream of the day I don’t have to be resilient anymore,

but they tell me my beauty comes from my strength.

I hope I’m radiant because some days my petals feel awfully thin.
Lyndsey Feb 2023
We'll chase eternity
Spinning together at the center of our galaxy
In awe of the universe
and how despite its vastness
We collided in a supernova
of endless lifetimes
Where we searched the heavens
and searched the Earth
to find the atoms that seamlessly became interwoven
from spending infinite forevers
being side by side.
Lyndsey Feb 2023
I used to be well.

Medicate to sleep at night,
don’t worry my name is on the bottle.
Caffeinate to face the day,
procrastinate everything.

Beyond the corner where my Zoom calls take place
my apartment is a disaster.
Let’s not discuss how garbage will sometimes sit at my back door
in piles of ‘No Contact Delivery’.

I used to be well.

Dining out seems exhausting,
“the movies cost too much.”
Screams the combined 100-dollar bill to sit at home and stream.

I used to be well.

The days run together
Simultaneously faster
and like watching molasses run uphill.

I used to be well.
Lyndsey Sep 2022
For three years
3 ******* years
It was
I love you
You're mine
You're the best part of my life
You're the best I've ever had

In one week
It became
I can't be that guy
I'm sorry
I'm sorry.

And in so many ways that's fair…

But I still feel used

I feel like I was lied to

Like once again I was temporary to someone I saw as permanent

I guess I always knew this would end in tragedy
I figured it would be because of you
I was ready to go all in
Despite the distance I always tried to keep
I was ready
I mean why not?

It's been…
3 ******* years 
Of the same thing 
Every day

You told me once you needed me
And I refused to ever let myself need you.
But here we are
And I should have known

You would be the muse
And the death of my hope.
Go **** yourself.
Lyndsey Aug 2022
When she needs me I know. 
It's a frantic action, 
a silent plea. 
What we have is private, 
it's more intimate than it has right to be. 
We used to hide under the covers 
with all the lights out 
and I'd give her what she needed. 
Sweet nothings 
have never really been her style.
She's more of a hard and fast girl, 
she wants to feel not think. 
I get her heart pumping 
and let her move with me. 
Fluid motion 
quickly will have us all over the room.
She rarely opens her eyes 
but she doesn't need to see, 
her fingers will deftly navigate me. 
The tension will roll off her 
and she'll crash backwards with a smile. 
When she needs me again 
I'll be where she left me, 
wrapped in silicone *******, 
and we'll pick up where we left off, 
the next time she hits play.
This one is light hearted and fun. I had fun writing it.
Lyndsey Aug 2022
Memories leave a trail down my cheeks 
Sometimes they make me smile
Sometimes they make me sad 
But they remind me that 
You lived.
Lyndsey Aug 2022
Start by wearing your heart on your sleeve.
You don't know any better yet,
up to this point the world has been good to you.
When your heart starts catching
on door knobs
and being battered against the black top,
you carefully tuck the gently scratched ***** in your pocket.

In your pocket,
out of sight
it's a little harder for the bruises to land.
Over time
the blood stain of time spent hidden
seeps through.
When the first blow lands
it knocks the wind from you.
You still don't lock your heart up.
You just move it back into your chest.

You don't sew yourself shut,
cracked ribs spread wide,
a tourniquet wrapped around one chamber,
the abused ***** still trying to beat
it's an erratic rhythm,
but it's a pulse.
It's not even shocking,
when daggers come from the front
or behind
and twist into the gnarled flesh.

Arterial spray,
broken pieces you've given away,
cover the walls.
Bones curl around
to try to protect you,
but you've never been able
to close yourself off completely.
The worst part is,
you sort of enjoy the pain.
For a moment,
the heart remembers
before the first bruises marred the skin,
before you built a cage to exist within.
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