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cder Nov 2017
I wish nothing more
than to gain the ability
to make the words appear on paper
the way they do in my head.

They make sense in there
but written down
they make me feel silly and stupid
and disappointed.
I think I might need to forgive myself first though.
cder Oct 2017
i gave myself a week.
one week to be in awe of you,
one week to diagnose exactly what colours your eyes were
but then you stood in the sun and my research was nul and void.
One week to memorise every mark on your body displayed in public,
to remember every curve and dip that your clothes allowed.
One week to absorb everything you said and the way you said it and what you meant by saying it.
One week to pick up on your habits and stop the bad ones.
One week to appreciate the crinkle of your eyes every time you laughed or smiled or frowned or smirked.
I gave myself a week of you,
promised myself that after this week i would be done with you,
yoou would never cross my mind again
never again would i be so severely aware your presence.
I would be immune to you
it was meant to be easy and it was meant to be painless
one innocent week of thoughts of you.
but it's been two months and you are still engraved in my brain.
like an addiction i accidentally got hooked on and cant give up
i have tried to wash you out with distractions and other people,
by new hobbies and old habits
but none of that has worked
now i am slowly being consumed by the repetition of one week.
cder Oct 2017
Many have told me that I am either too young to write,
or too inexperienced.
"How can you write when it isn't from what you've done?"
Well, that's the beauty of writing isn't it?
I have all the power.
I have control over all the words I put down,
I am the master of scenarios,
I am their maker.
The first thing I fell in love with when I started messing around with writing was the manipulation. I loved the ability I seemed to have. The idea that I could change me having eaten something to me having had the best day. The thrill of using different words to change the feeling of a scene, or poem. Manipulation is how i am neither too young nor too inexperienced.
cder Oct 2017
what was it like?  
Being ripped away from    
the only place you ever knew,  
the place you grew up in, what you called home.  
In a ship cramped between foreign people.  
Bones,  both yours and theirs, protruding,  
digging into your sides.  
Did this scare you?

How did it feel?  
Your neck, ankles, wrists chained.  
Your body binded to others  
who suffered the same fear of this unkown.
Frozen, immobile, confined to this state,
Uncertainty lacing the air
Your lungs filling with dread  
How did you breathe?  

what was it like?
arriving somehwere new,
completely different and obscure  
where you would be stripped of being yourself  
where your name and beliefs would not matter  
where you were judged by appearance  
and your abilities.
Did you know this?  

How did it feel?
Doing what they wanted  
Having no control of your life  
Being defenceless to them using you  
Them placing their hands where they should not be  
Sold as if you were an object  
Treated like animals  
Did that break you?  

What was it like?  
When they took them away  
without even a second glance.
as if they werent your most prized possession.  
as if your blood did not run through their veins  
When he said the boy was not his  
and refused to raise him  
Did that hurt you?  

How did it feel  
To be considered a slave?
cder Oct 2017
there is nothing more
distracting than a boy who
does not love you back
He is consuming my thoughts.
cder Oct 2017
The addiction of
Hands tangling
Together
Lazily
cder Oct 2017
Despite knowing
That they are
Involved,
I find myself
Tangling our legs
Together.
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