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Dani Huffman Mar 2013
If I am an
attention seeker,
let me carve the
words into myself like a
label,
a definition of a
four-lettered name.
I am more than
nights of spinning and
contemplating,
razor in my hand,
moving like a silver
dancer through my fingers,
but there it is,
tracing my veins as a
pencil traces paper,
drawing patterns up and
down my arms in permanent
red paint.
Let me tie a
hairband around my
wrist and snap it until my
veins fashion welts,
red over blue on
placid skin,
vines through to my
fingertips, thorns under my
nails with ******
red blooms like
cigarette burns.
Let me cry underneath street
lamps, audible to the
world, open and
vulnerable like the
new cuts on
my skin.
Dani Huffman Mar 2013
Why do I still crave
you when all you craved
for was what lies
between my legs?
How can I miss
you so when you gave
me up so easily?
I was just another,
one more mark on your
**** as I made another on
my wrist.
You were tender like the
skin that lies there,
lips sweet like July afternoons,
lustful like Parisian
nights.
You were a dream fallen to
a nightmare,
taking me in your
arms only to throw
me away, down into
a pit too
steep to climb
out of.
You're a gentle
daemon,
hands like
claws, drawing
blood from my neck,
trickling down my
breat like a
corpsed stream.
Dani Huffman Feb 2013
I can't find the
words to smash in your
face like a brick,
or tie around your
neck like a noose.
I want to scream how
much I hate you until your
ears ring,
***** my hands with your
sweet nothings,
nothing but lies as
you took another
beneath you.
Was I ever
enough?
Even if I'd given you the
last simplicity of my
being, would it ever
have been
enough?
I wish my words could
slap you hard like
yours did:
"****** up",
"ignorant",
"I could've done better".
But my tongue
bleeds with how long I've
been holding them in,
sharp like
razor blades on the insides
of my cheeks,
wishing so to carve out
yours like you did a
fifteen year old girl's
innocense.
Sweet child, if only I
could hold her to
my chest, and
reassure her that she was
never the impure one.
Dani Huffman Feb 2013
Where are the days when you
called me baby,
held my hand, and looked
at the stars?
You said to my
eyes, there was no comparison,
full like your
lips along my skin.
I was your princess,
the little girl taken under
your wing and named
as yours.
What happened to the
promises you made,
buried along with every
ounce of feelings you
had for me?
Do you know that
I cared?
Do you know that I
held you while
you slept,
loving you with every
breath you took,
stroking your hair like a
mother strokes a child's?
Dani Huffman Feb 2013
I was born screaming,
yanked out of my
mother's womb,
****-naked and wailing.
If only I knew the
life that I would live,
I'd tie the umbilical
cord around my tiny
neck, scratch my paper-thin
skin with newly grown nails.
It wouldn't make a difference
to now,
my hands digging for something
deeper than blood
and veins.
I am hair and *******,
painted with scars,
breathing just to
stay alive.
I am alive but
not living.
I am as alive as I
was in an embryonic
sac.
Dani Huffman Feb 2013
Your life is a story.
The spine is cracked,
pages are missing,
but no space is left
vacant.
Each chapter holds every
tear, every ****** knee,
every night spent alone.
They quote the thoughts and
conversations you wish you
had forgotten,
the screams and the
hand gestures,
every bad name you've called
yourself since you were ten,
all of it branded to the
pages in black ink.
You wish you could burn
it all like you
used to burn your thighs.
You don't remember the
pages you crumpled up
and threw away,
the eskimo and
butterfly kisses,
the summers you spent
by his side.
You lost your best friend's
laugh and the smell of
chocolate chip cookies.
You closed your eyes to the
beauty you always had,
the smile that was always yours,
the feeling of a pen writing out
your story.
Dani Huffman Feb 2013
I'm on the outside
looking in, staring
through the glass with
both hands breaking through.
Nothing is what it seems,
illusions of a
rose-colored life.
They are smiling,
they are laughing,
they are the
beautiful people we've always
strived to be.
But the light that
really bathes then lacks a
pulse;
it is dark and cold like
snowless solstice nights.
What we don't realize is
that they're looking out
at us,
wishing for the skies and
abnormality that we take
for granted.
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