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she sees only                                   red in her inner vision
                                            psychopath sociopath              borderline
see what u want to see in ur               mild stupor;
                          she                            ­      is sitting by the window
she is not going to jump;
aweshe sp                                her heart i                      s a half-empty glass
Gerty gets her        she left her glasses                          hair done by Kathie
why does the wind                 whistle so
                 ar ther                                    the     I can see blind men
                           leading the others
    I can only t                   hink of he need medication I
                          r or I'll get violently sick               luring others                                                w/ their gay songs
                                      into the dark hole belo                    w all dreams
                                             she's p       she's been below before
stepping
                           e sparrows in the trees filled w/ sunlight moonlight
at the window                                like me  I will go out &                                                            find Victoria; bewitching       vamp
     whom I lost,                 sits  for day                             I found her under                      a tree as a dead princess
greenish in complexion
sailing toward the sun on wax wings
 May 2018 alwaystrying
Cello Girl
my home
is not
the room
where i sleep
fitfully.
or the house,
broken memories
and walls
the color
of
****.

my home
is the
off-key
singing
with my sister
in her car.
the buttered popcorn
from the movie theater
that we ate together,
her and my brother and i.
the spring air
as we ran with her dog.
the monotone
of teachers droning on,
the bright laughter
of my friends.

home is made
of the little
bits of joy
that
we’ve left
scattered
behind
us.
 May 2018 alwaystrying
Maes
Sometimes I see a brief glimpse of light.
It is shining on me like the sun in the evening
It is so beautiful, so gold and bright
I can't believe I am the one receiving

I realize that I am fortunate
To be the one to witness this stunning view
I never again want this door shut
And to be left in this dark room with nothing to do

If only I had the power to open this door
Just enough so that the wind won't close it again
I wish to watch this sunset a little more
I need a plan
Every once in a while (Mainly when I am manic) I feel positive about myself. I realize that this isn’t very often. Also usually when I am feeling like this and not manic, It’s a little bit of positivity. I want more. I want to feel positive about myself more without having to be manic for it.
writhe and
gape of tortured

   perspective
   rasp and graze of splintered

normality
               crackle and
               sag
   of planes          clamors of
   collision
   collapse         As

peacefully,
lifted
into the awful beauty
                                  of sunset

                                  the young city
putting off dimension with a blush
enters
the becoming garden of her agony
 May 2018 alwaystrying
inthewater
she reads books and she plays music
the cute, innocent
clumsy girl
with freckles on her cheeks

you like to read and listen to music
the cool, handsome
sweet-talking man
who likes freckles on her cheeks

[ or at least you said you did ]

she rolls her eyes at your compliments
the cautious, bright
guarded girl
with curiosity in her eyes

you lay them on thick
the certain, sharp
imprudent man
with hidden agendas on your lips

she lingers a little longer
in hopes of crossing your path throughout the day

she laughs at your jokes
and you know they're not funny

she sings for you in the car because
you like her voice

[ or at least you said you did ]

she's become good at excuses
the hopeful, naive
kind-hearted girl
with sureness in her words

you soak them up
the stark, ill-intentioned
vacant boy
with uncertainty in your voice

she gave all she had to care for you,
the smooth, clever
self-serving boy

you convinced her that you loved her

[ or at least you said you did ]
sweet nothings are just sweet nothings
Be the light
In someone’s dark path

Be the smile
That someone hasn’t seen

Be the support
For someone who doesn’t have it

Be the shoulder
For someone to cry on

Be the love
For someone who isn’t loved

Be the voice
For someone who can’t be heard

Be the friend
For someone who doesn’t have one

Be the strength
For someone who is scared

Be the way
For someone who is lost

Be the fight
When someone feels weak

Be the magic
When someone doesn’t believe

Be their friend, support, love....
                         The possibilities are endless
it's not about how you look
or the clothes you choose to wear
or the way you make your face up

it's not about your heart
or how you choose to feel
or the way you let it get to you

it's not about what you said
or the fact that it was hurtful
or the circumstances that led to it

it's the fact that we can't communicate
that takes away all the beauty in you
a two-way dialog that says: hey wait
i really wanna get to know you
it's across this space that i postulate
how different life would be without you
the thing that harbors all this hate
is exactly how i'll remember you

and is it worth it? i don't know
there's still way too much of it on show
All men want is to witness a woman in full genuine pleasure. To hold lightning in their hands. Pure, raw energy.
Women, *** really is all about you. You aren’t there to please your man. If you really want to please him then please yourself. Rock those hips, undulate and grind. Whatever it is that gets you there do THAT! You are the divine feminine. Tap into that **** and be the conduit. It makes all the difference. You become a shooting star, rocketing to heights outside of visible distance into the ethers of all that is and skinny dip through that magic. Ladies it does not matter how you look. If you can genuinely enjoy the pleasure of yourself for yourself it’s spellbinding.
The men. They just want to hold on for the ride. They feel it through you. They consume it with their eyes in our every little movement. Their hands feel it through the rhythm of our stutters and spasms. Their ears hear it through our moans and uncontrollable purrs. Their ***** feel it as you make him your own private slip-n-slide. What are you waiting for? Bathe him in your surrender.
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