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grace elle May 2015
Broke the seal, came to kneel
Carry me through everything you feel
Shallow water, sunken sea
Broken fists and ****** knees
Safe and sound, keep holding me while I drown
I reflect the needles, fistful of pens, take me back to the only place I understand
The safety was never on, the gun has always been loaded and the blood looks like velvet while it runs down the staircase
This is desperation and demise with a smiling face
Playing with God,
Talking him up,
I heard you invited him over for dinner
and asked him to ****
I heard he denied you, told you that you weren't good enough,
you swallowed your pride and then you called me up.
I sunk into the staircase, bled into the floorboards, colored the walls with my shadows, the basement ceilings drippings spelled out stupid *****.
Cut off your ears to spite your mom, cut out your tongue because you know you're ******* ****.
**** all of your enemies, it's only suicide, remember how it costs nothing to lie and everything to die.
Thoughts in the fade, skies swallowed in grey, it never rains and around here we don't believe in pain.
Vibrate this name with your vocal chords and no tongue, beg God to take you back when I'm done.
grace elle May 2015
My membrane is a flower and too many people have plucked my petals from the stem.
I ripped out all of the pages that had scripture in them, scripture that told stories of who I was back then, scripture I had written with a broken pen.

I kept your voice in a box that's in the attic, it's safe inside a headache, it still sounds nothing less than tragic.
Remember my hands and how they shook when you took everything away, when the demons weren't at bay,
when I screamed for them to stop but still, continually,
everyone's been taken away,
so when people stay please understand that I have to push them away like waves from the shore and ****, I know that's clichè but I'd rather die than let them live in my heart for only a few days.
They still try to talk and I reverberate about how it's unholy to say my name that way, it's unholy to keep me in the fade.
It's unholy to remember me by my eyes and not by my lies.
I have good alibis and it's nothing but true when I say that
I forgot what love means,
I believe it's an illusion that most people just dream, they told me I'm crazy but **** I think I've had more nightmares than dreams so I would know better than to keep my lonely stem stuck in bad weather.

They're over there seducing themselves now, they're seducing themselves with medication that leads to hours of a permutation of all the items in her chest, he leads her to a mutation of what he thinks is best.

I only weep between sheets.

They're far too confident in their self extraction and I just don't understand how that happens, how self absorption can lead to something so terrifying, placing yourself in a box so you can delegate yourself, you're too delicate, it's not good for your health.

That voice inside that box talks in third person now, it says you're not doing too well.
grace elle May 2015
Hard asphalt.
Windows without any glass on them.
The Wizard of Oz was my favorite movie,
you made sure I fell asleep safely.
I smelled it too much growing up.
It tastes like nostalgia but the smell makes me sick, it makes me think of all the things I want to forget,
stringy blonde hair, strung out, I will pretend for the rest of my life that I don't care because I know there's nothing to hold my care.
Living room floors;
I've never felt more at home
I've never felt more alone.

I can't remember where I slept.

Stop pretending like you understand because in simplest terms
you just can't.
You can comprehend what it's like to only trust the people who left and the people who are dead instead of the people who are still here, I trust them because they did what I said and they left,
but God
sometimes I wish they would have been there.

Stop shooting up on love,
get help.
Your pupils don't exist.
I exist but it's been dismissed far too many times for me to give a single **** about any of this.
There's a new proverb:
Accept that it's possible for people to love needles more than other people.
It makes open hands turn into fists
and it makes me really really ******* ******.
But I'm not angry.

I am not dark,
I do not have a dark heart,
I'll show you darkness.
I'll let you look under the crack of the bedroom door in a house that would give you sores from just stepping foot through the door.
I'll show you what it's like to cry every night because there are a substantial amount of why's in a pool of what if's that answers never seemed to float in.

But trust me, this is not darkness, this is negative energy touching positive and bouncing off of everything in between, this is it leaving our bodies and begging to be seen,
This is not death, this is not release, this is not about you
or me
this is about the ones who lost it all, this is about the ones who's apologies will never amount to a hug or a new baby doll,
this is for the boys who lost their nerve and chose to find a friend in something unheard,
this is for the girls who wish they could stop, but know they can't handle reality at all,
this is for nobody and everyone all at once,
this is for all of the people I trust.
grace elle May 2015
I braved the mark of God and the Devil on each side of my ribcage,
an empty spot in my chest,
a heart that was never whole on the left
Unmarked by flesh but made by rose petals and battery acid,
brimstone, muck,
shadows that weren't just shadows, reflections of blue eyes and purple circles, veins that weren't normal colors,
doubt but certainty that this is me,
this is it,
this is all of me.
People talk.
There is a uniformed unity that swallows the red sea behind our eyes and the sea,
it leaks out through cracked pursed lips like a Russian lullaby,
the branches of love and hate permeate a scent so sweet that when it touches your nose you begin to beg God to take you home to the place you felt the afterglow of all of the people you know against the wall and in the picture frames and under the kitchen sink,
Ones vomiting lines of songs after drinking bottles of where they went wrong,
Coming down off of a high of lies from rails of love that weren't cut thin enough,
Seeking resilience after being hammered into the pavement by a hand that believes in ****** and grief and
Hiding your metaphors under the sheets you once slept
Drowning your last bit of
in the river under the bridge
spray painted
"God doesn't exist"
Running from everyone.
Around the house there are keepsakes of everything that reminds me of the way my skin is my bandage and everything underneath is an
open wound that has never healed
and every time the bandage is tampered with
Asphyxiating the roots that link everyone and everything, asphyxiating my heart,
asphyxiation of me,
this is how it should be.
Silent and shivering
Ripe with nothing
Raw with all of our sieves leaking,

we must remember we're still breathing.
grace elle May 2015
I loved the walls I told my story to every night, they were so very, very white. They ended up with holes and cracks in them but they taught me how to love, they taught me French was a language of passion, and they showed me your reflection in five years, they showed me your foreboding fears and drug laced tears.

It didn't look too good for you.

I wrote my poems along the cracks, I tried to fill the cracks in with pieces of my heart but it wasn't big enough to fill them and we all knew it from the start.
Now my chest is empty and I'm growing a new one and watering it with things that don't try to **** me.

I'd rather shoot myself in the head and end up dead than end up with a hollow soul again.

The paper I sleep on has leaks from where my chest and my mind try to meet up in between and I just end up throwing up black ink at 3 a.m.

I would rather drink bleach than end up back in this town after I've been released.
There are footprints all over this little cage from everyone we used to hate and all the people you wanted to date and now I just lie awake and awake and awake and it's all fake.

The rhythm from the rhyme is satisfying when you remember why we tried to rhyme, how we taught ourselves to survive off of empty pens and shredded paper, and I remember how many times I told my mom I wanted to die that night.

The walls know my secrets, I tore them down, my heart leaked out like the tears from my sieve-eyes on all of those tragedy filled nights, my best kept secrets are long gone now and I'm sure I'll get asked once or twice about those secrets that float through the shadows of past, but I look at them as more than sand in an hour glass, something like the sand on the shore that the sea eats when it gets sore.

The welcome sign has our names on the back of it but you can cross mine out or cover it up with someone new because my heart isn't here and my heart isn't through and I'm feeding it a hopeful story about a girl that once knew you.

I forgive, I forgive, and you'll probably never forgive me for how easy I can forget.
grace elle Apr 2015
I don't want money. I want to be an activist. I want to help other people. I want there to be no little girl or boy that feels like they don't belong in a classroom because they don't fit in or their teachers don't appreciate or believe in them enough. I want little girls to grow up knowing they can be anything they want to be. I want them to grow up knowing that Prince Charming isn't guaranteed but their rights and their education, their future and their body belonging to them and only them, is guaranteed. I want little boys to grow up knowing that they don't have to be the way society has taught them to be for far too long and that they too, can be anything they dream of. I want them to be able to want to study astrophysics and anatomy and not be ashamed. I want them to be able to write something soft and share it without their faces turning red or create a fashion line without being seen as feminine. I want them to know that they don't have to choose alcohol and lust like their some of their fathers did and that smiling isn't a sign of weakness. I want homeless people to believe in themselves in a way they've never been able to, I don't want to see people on the street and I don't want to hear about how everyone on the street only wants money for drugs. I want there to be real help and rehabilitation for drug addicts that doesn't coincide with being thrown in a jail cell so that little kids don't have to grow up without a mom or a dad because, or worse, with a mom or a dad or both that cannot get clean because they have a real problem. It isn't fair to hope for a person who made you and see them fail your entire life because they never got the necessary help. I want religions to respect each other. I want there to be help for mental illness, and I mean real help, which goes along with drug addiction in a lot of ways as well. I don't want there to be oppression because of the color of people's skin or their gender. I don't want to have to hear about a new school shooting because people that should not have access to automatic/assault weapons do have access to them. I want to see more women in the film industry. I want to hear more girls screaming songs and playing noisy riffs. I want to sing my songs and play my noisy riffs on a stage someday and inspire someone the way I've been inspired. I want literature to mean something again and I want poetry to be graffiti'd on the walls of corporations. I want to see flowers on every corner and more trees in places there haven't been in a long time. I want my fingers to bleed paint and I want the world to be my canvas and I want that for many other people too. I want everyone who has felt like me or many others that I know to know they're not alone. I want people to recognize that suicide rates increase almost hourly. I want people to realize white privilege is a thing, and I want people to realize we do not live in the worst country in the world nor the best country in the world. I want people to at least show the slightest bit of love to the president regardless of their own personal opinion. I want the kids in this country to be able to interact with the kids in other countries. I want to see different cultures blooming and coexisting together. I want to see unity. I want to see an end to hatred and a new beginning to love. I want to see less lies in the media and journalism and more honesty. I want the radio to stop telling girls how boys want them to be. I want girls to start deciding for themselves how they want to be. I want older generations to start being less apathetic. I want to see less processed foods and more organic foods going into our bodies. I want people to stop seeing animals as trophies or their three meals a day, and see them as the beautiful living and loving creatures that they are, and I don't mean that everyone has to cut meat out of their diet, just that they should appreciate these beautiful little things that aren't that different from us. I want us to stop killing our home, this garden that gives to us.

I want a perfect world as most people would see it. But I really just want this planet and these insanely beautiful creatures known as humans to be able to stay here for longer than it looks like we will at this point.

I want to make a difference, that's all I really want.

A difference is all we all really need.
grace elle Mar 2015
Butane lungs,
forty different faces, too many of them too numb.
Too many cups, too many cups, too many times I've called your bluff.
Stop your eyes from fallacies and incoherent lies, stop your mouth from the ******* that's falling out.
Inconceivable pacifism and flower petals made out of eyelashes and dead skin.
I don't want to go through this again.

Complicate the scales, complicate your lengthy tales, complicate the way she says your name, complicate the way I have too many finger prints on my veins.

Stop slitting wrists, go for the bruised knuckles and ****** fists.
Stop slitting wrists, go for the bruised knuckles and ****** fists.
Smile like there is no such thing as goodbye, smile while your teeth fall out, smile while you die.
Keep your eyes peeled, keep your eyes open with blood shot lies.
Covering yourself in lucid dreams, covering yourself in water it seems, covering yourself in pieces of me.
I'm too ****** up, I swear to God the Devil knows this isn't how I wanna be.
Overtime, over the night, over time, over night, under your flashlight, shadowed with with regret, I was never a satisfying bet.
There have been too many times that I've heard the phrase, "Darling, you're possibly the darkest person I've ever met."
I just talk to the ceiling and tell it about how I hope you never forget.
But I know this is it, I know I know I know, I know because you already forgot.
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