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 Feb 2017 Zara
Shelby Azilda
I remember what you told me about her after you broke up. All these terrible things. How she was crazy.  I wonder if you say things like that about me now.
 Feb 2017 Zara
AJ
I Shrug
 Feb 2017 Zara
AJ
How can people
Love who I've become
When I don't yet know
Myself
 Feb 2017 Zara
PEARL SMOKE
No Title
 Feb 2017 Zara
PEARL SMOKE
Trying Hard, To Just Be Me.
To Love My Self & Just Set Free.
Escape one day, From The Misery.
 Feb 2017 Zara
kaylene- mary
Muse
 Feb 2017 Zara
kaylene- mary
Someone once told me that life is just a series of moments,
that the past is merely a story we tell ourselves before we fall asleep.
And so I look at him and I am reminded that I am not who I was a moment ago,
and that I shouldn't try to be.
I fear a reality of fiction and distortion,
where my life is a blurry foreign film and he is the fourth wall,
always broken.
I have written of lovers and their seemingly intangible hands for so long that my concept of time is impressionable,
one might even call it sacrilegious.
I have bled dry every metaphor capable of embodiment that I wonder if it ever meant anything,
I wonder if anything ever will.

I want to write him into a scripture of meaning, of something other than illustrated angish.
I want to write about something that isn't love,
that isn't a thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.
I want to write about the way he leads me into rock pools,
like a child being baptized.

I look at him and I am reminded of the ocean,
as if his blood can only move in waves without devotion,
more like instinct.
I want to write about something that isn't love,
because this is more like inspiration.
This is not knowing what could possibly come after his tide falls back.

I am aware that literature always ruins the ending,
that finishing a book mid sentence is the only way to avoid the loss of its final words.
I am aware that beautiful things can never stay,
but maybe that's what makes them beautiful.
He is a picture of my perfect faith,
but he doesn't make me want to believe in religion,
because I know god hates the competition.

For so long I had thought that I was never going to feel anything new,
that I had exceeded the depth of emotions,
like anything that follows can only be a lesser version of something previously felt,
but here I gawk with a mouthful of blasphemous teeth.

I couldn't tell you about the snowstorm he evokes within my chest,
nor the locust plague that raid in his name.
Because this is not a love story,
at least not just yet.
This is a man that has grown roots where I have only planted seeds,
a man that scripts his stories on the soles of his feet.
*And so I look at him,
and I am reminded that I am not who I was a moment ago,
and that I shouldn't try to be.
 Sep 2015 Zara
Johanna Magdalena
I'm too old now to die young
But not old enough to get rid of my self doubt
I have many years on my record
But if I got arrested, would you still bail me out?

I'm too old now to die young
Too young to have these tragic thoughts
I have many years on my record
But I'm getting tired of walking around with a heavy heart

I'm too old now to die young
But not old enough to think that every tear's been shed
I have many years on my record
I wish I didn't feel like all those years were wasted

I'm too old now to die young
But not old enough to get rid of my self doubt
I have many years on my record
But if I got arrested, would you still bail me out?
I´m not sure about this one.. got inspired by a line in a song. Please feel free to let me know what you think/what could have been better.
Copyright @ Johanna Magdalena
 Sep 2015 Zara
Silence
Two people
 Sep 2015 Zara
Silence
I'm simultaneously the happiest and saddest person.
And I'm still trying to figure out how that works.
 Sep 2015 Zara
Life
Killer and Prey
 Sep 2015 Zara
Life
I am crumbling under your stare
dying
In the moonlight
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