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 Aug 2015 rebecca
jude rigor
kiss your
dead girl
hands,
exorcist-
bringer :: and
            ch
               ok
                  e       o n
               the         soot
            the              flames
           the                  terror
            coating
                           infinity-stained lips
                                                      :: ghosts
                                                           linger       in      the
                                                                             back
                                                                                  dr
                                                                                     op.
(c) 2014 jude rigor

messed around with formatting for this one. c: i'd really love feedback on the new poems i've been uploading!
 Aug 2015 rebecca
glassea
temporary
 Aug 2015 rebecca
glassea
she may hurt, but she is not pain.
she may fail, but she is not a failure.
she may be tragic, but she is not tragedy.

*she may feel worthless,
but this, too, will pass.
so it's always worth reminding people (i.e. myself) that just because you feel something in the moment doesn't mean that it's permanent. an emotion is an instant, no matter how long the ache lasts, and an instant cannot define you.

(thanks for the daily!)
 Aug 2015 rebecca
Ameliorate
~
~
I've lived a thousand lives
And died a thousand deaths
Within the pages of my notebooks
~
~
 Aug 2015 rebecca
Aditi Kumar
I want my words to be beautiful.
Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things,
Find the magic in them,
And put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.

I want to have a way with words.
I want every poem of mine
To become a masterpiece.
Just like yours.

I am not broken.

But you are.

You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colors brighter.
It makes the value of feelings
Climb higher.

Sometimes I wonder
If I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate
Like yours.

Sometimes I wonder,
If it will be truly worth it
In the end.

I wonder what it will be like,
To cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.

Just like you.

I imagine that you
Raise the blade
Slice your feelings open
And write your masterpiece
In red.
Can only sad people write good poems? Can only broken people find inspiration in anything?
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