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 Sep 2018
N
when I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
years later, she emotionally neglects  me and tells me to stop being so emotional
because I am her punching bag.

when I was eight,
my aunt told me she would always be there.
years later, she hung herself in her living room
breaking her promise.

when I was eleven,
I was told to be social, that everybody is a friend.
years later, I was *****.

When I was sixteen,
this guy said I was beautiful.
weeks later, he trashed me, tormented me
because I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.

So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn't want to wind up later on,
learning it the hard way, once again,
that people often don't mean what they say.
 Sep 2018
Graff1980
Time
consumes
every bit;

Seconds sent
to poetry,
a life spent
cultivating
my humanity,
to see it
slowly recede,
values exchanged
for the pleasures
I gained.

My morality
is a tiny treasure,
a golden globe
glowing
against
the deepest
dark.

Surrounded
by the absurdity
of humanity’s
ignorance
and cruelty
all the tints
and hues of me
melt away
like snow
on a spring day.

All emotions
fade to numbness,
all goodness
goes into
nothingness.
Till, I am no more.
 Sep 2018
Graff1980
Nobody knows the
the darker corners
of my decrepit soul,

a stale and stinky
nasty shrinking
***** of abstraction,
that is less than
a fraction
of nothingness,

a shadowy space
where people cringe
and strangers displace
their rage
till tension and resentment
fill this smelly place.

Nobody knows
that my heart
does not grow
but disposes
of the red roses,
dripping paint
of crimson pain,

beatings
taken in exchange
for struggles
and anguish,
pumping out plump
plumes of poetry
and prose
to express the truth,

that nobody knows.
 Sep 2018
Elizabethanne
I am seventeen years old
And I’m sitting at the bottom of my tub.
I’ve cracked my wrists open like the windows in my room-
I’m trying to let some light in
I need to breathe fresh air into my body.
this is the only way I know how
I have closed the curtains,
boarded up the doors.
you had a key
And you trekked in mud and pine needles from the giant spruce tree outside.
I pick them out of my hair
And line them up on the side of the stained porcelain tub.
I am thinking of putting out a foreclosure sign in my front yard-
Abandoning these halls and leaving everything but this stained tub behind.
Seventeen is hard and rough,
It had calloused hands and it took things from me I wasn’t ready to give.

- I am twenty now
- And I’ve redone my home and tore out the stained tub
 Sep 2018
Graff1980
It is the last day
to feel this
particular wind
on my face,
to absorb these
particular sun rays.

The boxes are packed
uniformly matched
except for
the black markings
that indicate
which room
the things inside
came from.

I slide my hand
across the
kitchen counter top
and find no dust
or dirt to speak of.

The carpet
feels thick and stiff.
I rub my bare feet
across the floor
one more time.
Then slip
my shoes
back on again.

It’s time to move on,
you’d think
it would get easier
with this
roaming disposition
that holds me
in its grip.

I’ve moved so much
but I still miss,
all that history
I associate
with each old place
that I once lived in.

I pick up
the last box
as little ghosts
of memory
follow me
melancholily
out of the door.
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