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I lack a certain meaning
something in my eyes doesnt shine as bright when people look at me it makes them want to look past me and I hate how average things can be and how I lack that certain "Oomph"
When all I really want is someone to say "Its alright darling the stars were made the same way as you, theyre just sometimes too bright to look at, too beautiful. Like staring at the sun too long."
And I am happy and content and excited and now I am crying at this computer screen.

I have lost memories and things are a darker shade of gray than they were before,
and it smells of ****,
this life im living.
But there's this nagging feeling like
"You're way too young to feel this way"
and I like to pretend it isn't some gay drake song
This ******* useless head, that detached side on the left that tells me to be quiet when I cry too loud,
or to let it the **** out,
inbuilt therapy.
Yeah.
I only hope that my language carries out to your ears and you pluck my words from your brain like that certain hair you didn't like growing on the inside of your nose and outside of your ear and you should listen dear
listen and hear.

My dreams are laughable because I am only seventeen
and realize I am a cliche and that protective screen
I had been
wearing when I really thought I hadn't, well its gone now.
So my dad was right about how many things I don't know about the world,
"The world is full of awful awful things"
and I thought I understood him then, well now I do.
Now I do.
There is a harsher kind of light that shines on the things I see,
some sort of UV process, reflected back at me, and It makes me sick, and nauseous and heavy.
I carry my cynicism like I carry myself, like its a stranger I'm supposed to know
But the best things can be carried off, If you really don't know
what you're talking about.

I think I am special because my **** doesn't smell as bad as everyone else's.
I sketched a faceless man today
I put more details in his hands than I ever could in his eyes

I drew a faceless woman today
forward facing
I put more details on the muscles of her back
than I ever could her nose

I painted a faceless child today
I put more details on his body
than I ever could his lips

I painted faceless beings today
all hollowed out alone
my art teacher looked at me like i was a little disturbed
I could not explain to him that the hollow of her cheekbone
will have more meaning
than the color of her eyes
or the voluptuousness of her lips
and that the strain in her shoulders
will show
and that man will have more meaning in the creases
of his palms
than I could ever put on the lines of his face
And all I could think of was
How that faceless woman had a **** good
***
Tired
Drunk
mostly trunk
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