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 Nov 2014 Bipolar Hypocrite
KZ
You fly,
When your high.
Because if you die...
I will only know that you made a big lie,
For that you would quit.
Because of your whit!
**But you need to realise,
That in order to rise.
You need to be wise.
Haven't been posting because I feel like my poems aren't good.
Please give feedback!**
~Khizara
 Nov 2014 Bipolar Hypocrite
Tessa
sometimes i drink tea as a substitute for your hugs
almost desperately sipping,
wishing, hoping,
dreaming of you (holding onto my ceramic cup so delicate)

sometimes loneliness creeps in like a stealth burglar
when you realize what it is you freeze,
suddenly too aware of yourself
but pretending it doesn't exist to cushion yourself from
these ugly emotions
who, like old fake friends whom i try to alienate,
i hide from, trying to mask myself by emulating
everything i love

in the hopes of becoming something beautiful,
something you might love.
(pour myself another cup,
dream on)
Arguing*
     with me

Is like
        Arguing

With a
      **BRICK
       WALL
~you CAN break me down~
             eventually....



Number 7 in my series of truths. Click mytruths to read them all, Thank you.
 Nov 2014 Bipolar Hypocrite
Mar
i spent the summer avoiding mirrors and avoiding eyes
inhaling cigarette smoke on a back porch
cutting open my fingertips
and collecting grime under my nails
i spent the summer crawling out of my skin
stuck between the reality and the formality
the bare truth and the possibility, the chances
i spent the summer trying not to be afraid
doing everything that seemed wrong
and trying to feel empty
trying to feel lost and free and open
i spent the summer cracking my rib cage until i could breathe
running my fingers along my sternum
wondering when it would break
i spent the summer with broken keys and resisting locks and secrets and sadness
i spent the summer with a veil
and a mask and no makeup
being careless and ruthless and obsessive
i spent the summer memorizing numbers
and listening and retreating
chasing grenades and waiting to explode
standing on edges and envisioning every violent act and staying reserved
i spent the summer lying and crying and dying and spying and prying and denying and bleeding and clawing at my spine and my scalp
until i could feel
everything
and peel onions and not cry and never cry and chop and dice and still, not cry
i spent the summer existing in yesterday and remembering and regretting but pretending and realizing but ignoring and pleading but boring and falling and catching and around and around
and burning calories and not believing
in you
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