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I suppose
I love my scars,
only because they've been there
through it all
 Jul 2018 andromeda green
Erica
m e
 Jul 2018 andromeda green
Erica
m e
you see...
me as a person
im afraid to tell people how i feel
because i know
it will destroy them
so i bottle it all up
till it ends up
destroying
me
 Jul 2018 andromeda green
emmaa
i do not know
why i feel so empty
broken
alone
why i'm in so much pain
but i do know that this is the worst
it's ever been
but not the worst it'll ever get
You are made of stardust;
Your skin sparkles the way those stars do.
Your veins are made of the earth;
Your blood blooms flowers and leaves and trees.
Your breaths are made of the air of this planet;
You blow life into this world.
Your mouth, your lips are made of words;
You speak tales that nobody else feels.
Your eyes contain the universe in them;
They have stories to tell and stories to bury.
Your scars are made of the chronicles your life has lived;
They're constant reminders that you've felt emotions nobody has.
You are infinite.
How'd you think it's okay to burn yourself down?
~Semicolon
 Jul 2018 andromeda green
Cece
Mundane days
are different for everyone.
Sometimes they're walking into the same bar
every Friday night.
Ordering the same drink
from the same bartender
and drinking to forget.

Sometimes they're jogging in a park every morning
playing the same song
at the same time.
Passing the same people out every day
like clockwork
following their own routines
at the same time.

Mundane days.
Sometimes they're sitting by a window
that's getting pummeled by rain.
With the same type of hot cocoa
that's slightly too hot to drink every time,
breathing in the warm and comforting scent instead.
Looking out the window
lost in the same stormy thoughts.

Mundane days
spent going to school,
talking to the same people.
Hanging out with the same crowd.
Dealing with waves
of perfectly normal teenager-y exhaustion.

They're spent shopping for Christmas dresses
like girls do every year.
The same stores, same disapointment
when the dresses aren't perfect.
The smiles when they find the one.
Priceless yet so mundane.
To be repeated next year.

Sometimes they're people watching
in a crowded train station,
the same one every morning to get to work.
Smiling at the cute couples,
admiring outfits, and sighing at the same commuters
who happen to have the same schedule
and get on the same trains ever morning.

Mundane days spent reading, writing, watching Netflix.
Days spent talking, napping,
eating leftovers from last night's dinner.
Mundane days going about a crystal clear routine
carefully carved by weeks of despair beforehand.
Mundane days born of times when routine was needed
just to feel something.
Just to feel anything.

They look all normal.
All perfectly pristine.
Innocent and mundane.
Until the glass is shattered.
Beauty lies bereft and bound
it cries for help but utters no sound
mascara kisses fade from your lips
etched by lovers worn fingertips
purple rings around sullen eyes
the broken skin it never lies
fists of thunder make not the man
nor the swift strike of back of hand
a thousand apologies can never repair
the displacement of a single hair
for she is not an object for you to own
she is a Queen that deserves a throne
and if she allows you to enter her chamber
it's also her decision if you should remain there.
her beauty is boundless
and cannot be tamed
all those who try
should be shamed

***** I have shared my poems on this website now since 2015 and this is my first daily, it has been a privilege and I appreciate all the lovely comments <3 *****

https://www.instagram.com/p/BpaxPgdFnQu/
isn't it funny
how one day you're here
but the next you're gone
how one day you're my rock
but the next you're like sand
isn't it funny
people are fun
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