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Cole Nubson Oct 2014
The barrier between our body breaks the distance.
Buried beneath the yellow bench, my love for your instance.
Your braided hair is blinded by the white moon.
A blurry background filtered, embezzled with a borrowed afternoon.
Cole Nubson Oct 2014
Studying her pillow frame
ample signs to take the blame
Neither one keeps marching on
Red stained eyes down by the pond

She said as she refused
Her mind a nightmare, light the fuse
That’s not the way I remember her glow
But that was a couple pounds ago
Sometimes I think about people and write a sentence about them and then turn it into a poem, so most of this is just that.
Cole Nubson Oct 2014
When given the choice to change something,
Most would choose something physical.
I would choose mental.

I struggle with self-confidence
I struggle with depression and anxiety
I don't wish for a new self.
I wish for a new light to look at myself under.
Cole Nubson Oct 2014
When
I
Was
Younger
They
Had
A
Different
Name
For
A
Strike-out.

They
­Called
It
A
"Cole Nubson"

They
Hated
Me
During middle-school I found out through a friend that our schools baseball team called a strike-out a "Cole Nubson". This still sickens me to the core and it's a prominent reason why I hurt so much.
Cole Nubson Oct 2014
The cheater:
This one has definitely caused the most pain on people. But this one is also the most caring and wonderfully accepting person I have ever met. Although they never try to hurt anyone, they often put their own temporary happiness infront of others permanent happiness. This one cheated, and married the person that they cheated with. They soon cheated on that person as well. They are the cheater.

The cheated:
This one is always accusing others of causing pain. This one doesn't understand that the world isn't against them, but it is their own brain that is working against them. This one remarried to someone safe. They bask in their sorrow of little achievement in self-pity. That's all this one is really, self-pity. However, this one is always caring and looking out for their kids, making sure no harm comes their way. It is only after doing this for so long without recognition that they get angered. They are the cheated.

The fallen:
The children. The ones who sat down quietly looking at the floor as battles of blood-spewing screams flew across the room. The ones who smelt the alcohol on the step-parents dark and heavy breath and said nothing. The ones who had to pick sides, pick houses, and pick schools. These are the ones that aren't able to identify with a clear emotion of love. These are the fallen.

And this is my family.
Cole Nubson Sep 2014
Leprosy on your skin
Starve your love under the bed
pinch the thumbnail, broken sin
My minds drifting from my head.
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