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i believe love will find me again,
but i'm not convinced it'll be happily
ever after.

- i don't believe in fairytales
i wanna cut
my chest open
just to make sure
my hearts still
beating inside
i've heard so many
rumors about
addiction.
do me and millions
of others a favor
by not talking about it,
unless you've experienced it.
unless you've spent
days in recovery groups,
or a hospital bed,
hours sitting beside the toilet,
experienced intense cravings,
or withdrawal symptoms
that make you feel like
you're dying.
"duh, just quit."
shut up!!!!
you don't understand.
and i hope you never have to.
you try something for
your own reasons.
you like it for the
happiness it brings or
because it helps you forget.
you continue to use it
for that reason
and it leads to addiction.
at that point its too late
to "just quit".
you're brain begs for it.
if you don't give in,
depending on your addiction,
you're left with
nausea,
hot and cold sweats,
dizziness,
headaches,
and no appetite.
addiction is not
something to joke about.
today in class
i was reading a short story
for American Lit.
The Sculptor's Funeral
by Willa Cather.
it's about a man who has died
and his last wish was to be brought
back to his cruel hometown
to be buried.
"It's not a pleasant place to be lying while the world is moving and doing and bettering," he had said with a feeble smile, "but it rather seems as though we ought to go back to the place we came from, in the end. The townspeople will come in for a look at me; and after they have had their say, I shan't have much to fear from the judgement of God!"
a man that worked under him,
Steavens,
brought him home in a casket.
everybody had something
bad to say about him.
Laird,
a corrupt lawyer in the town,
had enough of it.
he yelled at the townspeople
and outed all of those who had
asked him to bend the law.
he made them realize that
they had done more wrong than
the man who was now dead.
"Well, I came back here and became the ****** shyster you wanted me to be. You pretend to have some sort of respect for me; and yet you'll stand up and throw mud at Harvey Merrick, whose soul you couldn't ***** and whose hands you couldn't tie."
"Harvey Merrick wouldn't have given one sunset over your marshes for all you've got to put together, and you know it..."

this story makes me
want to believe that,
if i'm ever lying in a casket,
someone will stand up for me
and try to clear my name.
even in small, ****** towns,
like the one i live in,
maybe there's at least
one person
with a kind heart.
i was on my way home
from the city.
sitting in the back of the car
listening to loud music
with my brother
and his best friend.
i was gripping the seat,
feeling the vibrations
from the bumpy road
and listening to them sing.
i cried.
nah,
i balled.
why?
because what if those
sleeping meds
i took two months ago
had done exactly
what i wanted them to?
i'd be six feet under
instead of enjoying
the little things.
Callie Richter Dec 2018
whenever i get sad
my mom asks
if i'm going to a
"dark place".
no mom.
i live in a world
thats full of light,
but when i
reach out
i can't touch it.
i need someone
to help me,
but nobody
remembers
my name.
i want to stop
carving lines
into my thighs
just to see my
favorite color.
i want to be able
to smile
and actually
mean it.
i want to sing
and dance
around my room
like i did when i was
a little girl.
but the problem is
i don't know that
girl anymore.
so mom,
the answer is no.
i don't live in a
dark place.
and maybe
that's the problem.
Callie Richter Nov 2018
when i look
in his eyes,
i see the stars.
every single one.
he's so good,
so sweet.
his smile can literally
light up any room.
he says
he can't believe it.
he says
i'm out of his league.
but,
when i look in the mirror
i look behind my eyes
and i still don't see
a future.
i'm reckless
and insane.
i'm disappointing.
i just can't
go through this
again.
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