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I HATE NICE PEOPLE
their small talk
their half empty smiles
their exaggerated cackles
their silent judgement
I HATE MEAN PEOPLE
their simmering rage
their quick temper
their sideways glances
their blissful ignorance
I HATE PEOPLE
their stubborn ways
their bad habits
their herd mentality
their inconsistencies
I LOVE HUMANITY
their goodness
their rebellion
their resiliency
their power to overcome
dreamcatchers are a hoax
as if nightmares could be filtered
or dreams could be altered
flashbacks too strong to wake
stuck to a bed unfamiliar with my space
cold sweat turns **** warm
there is medication for that
but no remedy for peace of mind

therapists are a joke
as if someone could solve you
or memories could be erased
bonds too weak to mend
forgiveness being a foreign concept
cold nights scatter my thoughts
there is medication for that
but no remedy for closure

lovers are a hoax
as if someone could adore you
or make you feel whole again
issues too complex to solve
location unknown
your side of the bed is cold
there is no medication for that
there is no
****
flowers you gave her
starting to wilt
first daises
depraving innocence
then a lonely rose
pink petals swelling
under pressure
living off artificial sweeteners
suffocating wildflowers
does not tame her
drawn out death
begging for life
souls need sun to thrive
not sugar to borrow
bouquets only live
dying for replacement  
another petal falls
leaves are always last
clutching thorns on stems
holding everything upright
time sensitivity quickens
containing beauty consistently
cutting herself short
viscously controlling
how long you get to see
the illusion
weeping alone
hoarding tears
neglecting to refill
vases left to rot
turning vases into jars
depositing wax at her expense
candles illuminating scarlet letters
ignites inescapable fires
killing her spirit
she too dies slowly
having a savior complex as a defense mechanism
only proves your naïve nature to be in bloom
do not sacrifice yourself to assist my growth
if you have been choking buds from blossoming
desirable only under your own timing
strategically planning how to keep me -

to escape your cruelty would be my first destination
along the roadmap: "Putting My Heart Back Together"
stop basking in your anger
quit trembling in your wake
halt feeding our flame you so desperately yearn to keep alive
as if your flicker could burn down mountains
I have built around myself -

season's change will wither your mal-intent
revenge budding with debris and pests
vermin desperately seeking attention
temptation licking at my ankles
keeping my eyes forwards
this being no trip for me in any regard
but an unpleasant stop along the way -

these hornets I have mistaken for bees
thorns thought to be flowers
at first being destructive in the face of opposition
now I offer honey instead of vinegar
this time I will not suffer lonely -

feeding into trembles in my pulse,
letting your words stain blood
coursing through my veins,
too easily I give in to the silence between beats,
my heartbeat -

oh! my poor heart,
this tired thing that won’t stop me
using my soul as a guiding light
instead of fires you set forth
can be a tiring task
but well worth the hassle
even while traveling alone.
do not name that thing you wish to know
take such a weighted title
make a security blanket of that thing
sleep in a mirage and lie
down in bedsheets other than your own -
if you wake up in the morning after
covering up lies with that thing
you will not put your demons to rest
do not think if that thing feels safe
you love that thing recklessly -
it is in our nature to yearn
for that thing to have our back
infatuation being our downfall
lustful happenings disrupting
the consistency you want to name -
do not name that thing
because a title can never change character
and that thing is always
stubborn
there are some days that I cannot fathom
the anguish another individual must feel
to openly hurt the ones he loves for attention
when we sit here (cowards)
denying our own reality to make ourselves
feel better lying down next to strangers
fading away my heartbeat ceases
until i can comprehend something other than
mistakes painted in opposition to the universe
or how i miss your touch most days
feathering blushing hues fading fast
in the sunlight these are the days
i miss you most when the memories i hold dear
pigment themselves vivid in my pastel routine
my easel is no longer in a home
my art is no longer stagnant on a wall
it is
walking
(talking)
breathing
crying right in front of me
walking away from me
in the distance now
those days i do not understand us
or what we have become
i reflect on how seasons transition flawlessly
without any form of communication
other than knowing of the passage of time
and that right now is time for change
(it is time)
she
she utters her existence with a cry for help
muffling her sorrow as she ages
fine wine overheating in the garden of evil
hourglass woman pouring herself out
white eyes most vulnerable to camera light
flashes of happiness escape outside sobriety
inside the territory of the boundaries set for her
she exists when we speak her name
water mixes with her blood
deluding illusions made by us
merlot no longer holds pigment
without her eyes to cry cups half empty
she lives when her name is written
meaning she will live forever
her pen a megaphone between fingers
screaming back to her roots
silent when she drinks midday
closing her door to trap her thoughts
paper being her platform
she is home when she can be loud again
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