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Looking down
At my tired-old journal
And thinking to myself
*that's me on those pages
"You gave me panic attacks and I called it love."

Because thinking I was dying with you,
seemed better than living without you.

Not everything is as it seems.
out from beneath my skin
jump melancholy whispers
of happy girls
who make for grey dreams
Gnarled cedar ridges match one wrinkle,
Red on my foreheads smooth, pale, taunt skin
Contrasting the deep skies blue, roundness seen,
Through two globular, wet, brown eyes.

Cedar bark can feel jagged outside but,
Like my own tongues tendency to tell truths,
When picked open releases a green scent,
Honestly pungent, stingingly needed.

Cedar roots are buried under mounds of aged Earth–decay,
Gripping tight like family, faith, friends, remaining
As the one force that holds the Cedar up,
And I too reach my hands up in praise.

— The End —