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Life is beautiful
they tell the
generation born of
depression and
anxiety.

Life is beautiful
with higher percentages
of suicide than
highschool
drop outs

Life is beautiful
to the “me” generation
called self centered
because of
selfies

Life is beautiful
to the highest
price of living
in American
history

Life is beautiful
to the generation
that romanticizes
death.
February 17th, 2014
I had did it again,
made someone else my gravity
But that was before I realized
I never needed someone holding me down
Just someone to help me fly
wine stains on the shelf
a flash of irritation ended
coverless on the couch

separateness lingers into morning
politeness papers over open wounds
where repairs could have been made
memory wire refuses to uncoil

we'd overwound the pound-shop threads
of our connection
scraped each filament to fronds
that could part at any moment
but didn't

we argue our differences, forget
to celebrate our samenesses
sensing barriers
where none are
90A
Vulnerability is crying in public on the bus ride home,
trying desperately to avoid the wandering eyes
only to end up sitting beside a fellow apartment tenant.
Vulnerability is crying hard in front of a (stranger),
only to see them again.
-- that uncontrollable nakedness
Vulnerability is getting your rose-tinted glasses forcefully ripped off your face, exposed,
for what we truly are:
-- human

                                   *-lf-
© Leelan Farhan
   (date unknown, found on a sheet of paper in the bottom of my bag...)
i am fighting a disease,
so i became a ******.
my drug of choice: just to run.
to run each day with an unfeigned grit.

the medicine for my mind.
no need for a doctor to fill the prescription.
my morphine.
my high.
ease my anxious mind
and uplift my heavy heart.
calm floods my insides,
immersed in quiet rapture.
****** exhaustion settles in
and silences the disease-
those incessant, enslaving urges that regulate my every move
are replaced by stillness.
this
is bliss.
this one is personal/literal...first time working through some of my OCD via poetry.
if drugs are so freeing then why are all my friends confined
bedrooms, bathrooms, back rooms
falling from grace in privacy

tv tells a story of an all-at-once catastrophe
but addiction looks different close up
save yourselves
Maybe we should keep the doors open.

Maybe then,
The night won't seem as fearful.
The dusks.
The dawns.

Maybe,
There's really nothing to fear;
The sinister ones seek closed quarters.

If we opened our palms just a little,
They'd run

And scatter.

We should keep the cocoon
A little more broken.

Find that they
May rest their wings.
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