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BG May 2020
can you feel it too?
my body has fallen
into beat with its
sturdy grip on my
insides. it holds me
tight as my lungs
decompress and my throat
grows tighter,
the persistent alterations
like a laugh of a child,
yet distant.

please tell me you feel it -
the sweat that beads
on my forehead and
pools in my grasp as
my hands are clenched
and my tongue bleeds
beneath my teeth.
the red from
the dreams.
the dream so close,
so intoxicating;
the one I have wanted
to reach out with
my brittle fingers
and touch
for as long as I can
but even as my eyes grow
and my skin comes
it never reaches.

how can you handle the feelings?
the hair as it scrapes
the back of my
neck a constant taunt
as my eyes glare forward
and my pulse becomes
ever so evident
in my neck.
how do you not notice
the breath as it enters
and leaves your body
faster and quicker and
without any hesitation.
you let it be like that.
you tell the air it can
maneuver beneath your skin
in rhythm with the pulsating
vessels that weave beneath
the ever changed shades
of color.

do they know what has happened
above the surface?
do they care?

say you feel it too.
BG Dec 2019
I want you to think of me.
I hate that I want that –
That I’m thinking of you
Long enough for me to want
You to return the favor.
But here’s the thing:
I haven’t been sleeping;
Every time I close
My eyes I think of your
Eyes and your
Face and how much
I want to punch that face
In its jaw.
My anger ridden insomnia
Cannot be explained
By anything other
Then the fact that
You drive me insane
To the point where
I want nothing more than
To have you lying next to
Me in my bed,
Your arms around my waist,
Your breath on my neck,
So I can roll over
And, so easily,
Punch you
In the jaw.
Because you’re a *******.
You’ve been an ***
And your *** hasn’t
Bothered to ask me what’s
What’s wrong is obviously
And there’s no way
Don’t know that
But you still let my anger
And act like I’m the one
Making a ‘big deal
Of things’.
Well listen to me
You little ****.
I hope to god you
Know what it feels like
To have someone stuck
On your mind constantly.
I want you to think of me
When you’re driving your car
Or lying in bed
Or with someone else.
I want to be on your mind
And I want it
To drive you
Because you’re well aware
That something could have happened
If you hadn’t tried to take
Advantage of what you
I want you to know
That you’re the one that
****** up.
Not me.
For once,
It was not me.
Because I tried so hard
And you acted like my concerns
Were meaningless and
My words were suggestions.
I hate that I still think of you
When things were so close
To being so unimaginably
It’s terrifying.
It’s terrifying that
My need for you almost
Led to pain
And fear
And hatred
That I know all too well.
I hate that you
Made me relive a
Panic that I’ve avoided
For years.
Whether or not you’re cognizant
Of what you did –
It doesn’t matter.
It happened.
It almost kept happening.
Do you realize that?
I hate that I’m thinking of you
When you turned my feelings,
The good ones I’ve worked
For so long to be able
To feel again,
Into dread.
You did that.
And I hope that,
When you’re thinking of me,
You realize that.
You realize what you did wrong
And you never
Do it to anyone else again.
BG Jun 2019
I want to write about our deaths
Of how ours together will be final breaths
For this breathless exchange could never hold true
And what is purple must fade to blue

I want to write about our hearts
Both shattered and broken, torn apart
But looking at you I do not see
This evil that has been shown to me

I want to write about our hate
How being together only doubles the weight
Of life pushing down with a gruesome plan
But none of that matters when I’m holding your hand

I want to write about our need
To distance ourselves from compulsive greed
The need to escape this addictive charm
And evade your light that will lead to harm

I want to write about your smile
About how your grin is terribly vile
But sadly I do not feel that way
For when you smile, night turns to day

I do not want to write about you
For doing so admits it’s true
That you are here and so am I
And these are feelings we can never hide
feelings ****.
BG May 2019
Do you wander at night and hear the wisps
Of whispers drifting through the winds
When the day departs with a painful scowl
And the vile moon begins to howl.
While the night seems bleak and void of life
You can still find dear the walls of strife
That pull you down beneath the rubble
And become the source of all your trouble
With a severed limb and empty eyes
You see the result of their demise
For while their bodies lie compiled
Not a single mouth has formed a smile
All arms are broken, and fingers too
Their skin a color of expiring blue
The odor strong, the flesh degrading,
Did any know their life was fading?
For faces null do still omit
The endless cuts around the wrists
And blindness will not stop the sea
Of screams and wails, their desperate pleas.
Did life get cut too short, too soon?
Or were they awaiting impending doom?
It matters not in reality,
What’s dead is dead. Let them be free.
but where do they go after?
BG Mar 2019
You tell me you’ll love me till the day I die
But what about after that?
Will your love fade while in a coffin I lay
With my intestines crawling with gnats?
And how about after when I lie in the plaster
And my body is layered in dirt
Will you love my insides as they melt as I lie
Far from a world full of hurt?
Where will your love go when my bones begin to
Break apart piece by piece?
When the sun will not reach me, and the maggots will eat me
And my body parts warp and crease?
I cannot love you when my body continues
To deteriorate inside my tomb.
My skin will start peeling and my mind will stop reeling
And my pores will unpleasantly ooze.
Your love will not help when on top of my scalp
My hair begins to fall.
It shrinks and it writhes like a worm without ease
And my eye sockets watch it all.
Will those words help with the pain that is felt
When the animals reach my face?
My once full lips are now eaten and ripped
And my features are all out of place.
And what when the odor begins to take over
With my home enveloped in rot?
The pus from my veins breaks through rusted chains
And the color? A shade I know not.
For the world in this coffin is since long forgotten
As my memory melts away
The light here is fleeting and my skin is not bleeding
As I try to end my dismay.
Your love is so distant and I no longer miss it
With reality caving in
Rats rip at my tendons as I try to blend in
Hoping they won’t find my skin.
But I hope no longer and I get no stronger
As my teeth fall off my jaw
My mouth is now bare but I no longer care
Since my gums have been eaten raw.
Does your love remain as my body’s been maimed
And my eyes have turned to gray?
The feel of my skin, the look of my grin
They’ve all withered away.
So don’t lie to yourself and say that you’ve felt
The same way for me all my life.
For while I may die, I would still be alive
And your words won’t end my strife.
So picture me there, alone and not scared
With my skin peeling off my chin
When you look at my eyes and can’t see past my demise
Tell me, will you still love me then?
But I don't care - I never loved you anyways.
BG Sep 2018
It drips off your skin
like a cascading river
threatening to drown all
who come near.
It’s taste is sweet.
Too sweet.
Too tempting.
It draws me closer
when close is the last place
I should be.
It calls my name
when the wind’s too loud
and the night’s too long
and my body shakes
as I see what has been just out of my reach
for so long.
My name on your tongue
sends shivers down the spine;
unraveling me into the
I knew I was all along.
Though as my thoughts run rampant
it continues to drip off the skin
and it doesn’t stop.
It won’t stop.
Drip drop
BG Sep 2017
I should not feel ashamed
of what I wear
in public.
I should not fear
wandering eyes
and side ways expressions –
looking me up and down
like I am an object
to be toyed with.
I should not have to
avoid unwanted glances
from those who think
they are superior
and feel they have a right
to what I show of myself.

no one has a right to me.
no one has a say in what I wear
or how I think
or how I choose to portray myself.
I am a sixteen year old girl.
a sixteen year old girl who
should never be petrified
of wearing shorts in
ninety degree weather.
a sixteen year old girl
who shouldn’t be harassed
for the said objectification
of her own body.
a girl who shouldn’t be told
that she was asking for it
and it was her fault
for revealing her own skin.

but their eyes still wander.
they wander across my body
like an animal hunting for prey
and it doesn’t matter if I’m covered
or hiding in the best way I possibly can.
to them, I am still weak. easy.
and they know that they will
forever have the upper hand.
and if I try to use my voice
it will only be beaten by the fact that

I was asking for it,
and I am the one who chose
to portray myself in such a way
to tempt those around me.
and whatever occurred after was,
and always will be,
my fault.
you will not define me
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