hello,
have you been
well?
i guess not,
for your attention
in my poem
could tell
sorry if this nurse
took so long
in finding
the perfect words
to cure
your soul
first,
strip your clothes
and
stand at the mirror
gaze at the
creature with
the foggy figure
there's
a sinkhole
in those eyes
and a temporary
stitch whenever
you would
smile
the collarbone
which hides,
suffocates from the
blanket of skin
with
sickening lies
it penetrated
and
corrupted your mind
ignored the
fact and just
romanticized
the beast
will **** you,
please
don't find
it ****
the chaos is screaming
later on
you'll be
empty
i know how
a reflection
cries
you lost yourself
you lost you
it's like
having a stray cat
beneath your
tissues
a wandering stranger
sails from
the memories
of truth
overflowing blood
choaked
your dilemmas
too
it mimicked the
fire of hell
in those
shoes
the greatest harm
you'll ever
cause you
but why a
nurse
and not a
doctor?
listen here,
you are your
fighter
the cure and the pain,
which decision
will define?
all i can
say is,
save yourself
from death,
because
it hasn't
deseved you yet
go ahead
and fight your
way to life

I will be waiting for him,
At the end of the world.
Where the stars don't shine,
And there is no sun.
Where the sky isn't blue,
And the wind doesn't blow.
Where people are not found,
And the birds don't fly.
Where the land comes to an end,
And the sea doesn't begin.
Where love can't be seen,
And hatred can't be heard.
Where life is lost,
And death is not found.
Where I can't speak,
And he can't hear.
Where I tell left,
And he walks to the right.
Where the day doesn't end,
And the night doesn't begin.
Where everything is dark,
And darkness is too bright.
Where I cry for him,
And he smiles for me.
Where I become weak,
And he becomes strong.
Where we finally kiss,
And yet don't touch.
So when the night comes,
I'll be waiting for him,
At the end of the world.

i played
with dolls as a
kid to learn what it
was like to be perfect
and to live a
perfect
life.
you
know, dolls
did not teach me
to hate my body
the people that made them
did. my dolls were secret agents
teachers, scientists and
firefighters.
but the
people
that
made them
shaped them into
stereotypical perfection
leading me to believe, that
you had to be perfect to achieve your
dreams. this was so ingrained within
me what when i was older, dolls were no
longer toys of my imagination, instead they were models to look just like, because
in my mind, nobody who ever looked like me would be made by a doll company, because they make perfect people and only perfect people were allowed to follow their dreams. only perfect people were allowed to do perfect things.