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 Mar 2018 Elizah Jane't
Jude
i am full
at the sight of your perfectly shaped smile,
i am missing nothing
but I know to hold this feeling for a while.

the shape of your face:
every wrinkle, every bump I trace
just to remember how it feels,
your eternal beauty so surreal.

how could I ever forget,
the happiness you brought my heart.
how could I not remember
you: my piece of art.

i, now, am terrified.
i miss the touch of your lips
instead of the tears I cried,
i miss the touch of your fingertips.

will I ever feel this again,
besides in my dreams, of course?
I kept chasing
you, as if
you were
a distant dream.
But dreams
are not always
dreams.
Sometimes, we have
nightmares too.
When did those dreams turned into nightmares? When did I stop believing in the magic of dreams?
life is like
when you're
a little kid
and you
discover that
there is more
than twenty-four
crayons in the box
that there is
the possibility
of forty-eight colors
of sixty-four
of one-hundred and twenty
that there are
so many shades
of love and anger and peace and despair
and absolute bliss
and the ability
to express them all
are now
in the palm
of your hand

life is
colorful
beautiful
thought-provoking
lovely
soulful
heartbreak­ing
inspiring
and absolutely wonderful

every day is
a new sunrise
a new chance
to transform into
the butterfly you
want to be

go out there
and change the world, kid
 Mar 2018 Elizah Jane't
Simoné
It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived
She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.
I know why the caged bird sings.

It's not because his song
is as vibrant
as his feathers, that he plucks away
each day because he doesn't
feel beautiful.

It's not because of the majesty
that exist in the freedom
of being able to spread his wings
though he knows
he'll never rise to the occasion.

He sings because he believes
that this cage
was made for a king
because he has never tasted
freedom with a side order of skies.

He's never flown past the sun
on a cool morning
or hung with the moon
on a warm night.

He's only ever known
the comfort of a prison
that his thoughts have
become accustomed
to calling home.

He would never venture
beyond the "welcome" mat
because what's beyond the threshold
holds no promise
the way these bars and metal locks do.

He sings because he knows
that no one is listening
so if he makes a mistake
he doesn't have to live with the regret
or embarrassment of knowing that he missed his note.

The caged bird
never believes that he's caged
because behind these walls
he's safe
and he prefers it this way.

I know why the caged bird sings.
A twist on a title by one of my favorite authors...
 Sep 2017 Elizah Jane't
Raven
I find the best way to hurt
is to inhale this precious air and dunk my head in a bathtub
still filling up.
and I can hear the waterfall
I wish to be under
as my ears go under as well,
as my tears dissipate.
 Sep 2017 Elizah Jane't
Pea
Umamilk
 Sep 2017 Elizah Jane't
Pea
my body, once again, got in the way

of all the softness i can hold in my hands
this is what i seek the most

height, broken neck
i want to hit the water and be embraced
by all the cold, the harmful liquid
damage me more so i can't look at the mirror anymore

my body. it got in the way

of all the softness that i can hold in my hands
won't you stop by and say hi sometime?

this is worthless, for me to leave
i don't cut my hair, nothing has changed

i've been longing for the moment that i'm
finally neutralized

drink me like milk, i want to flow
through your tunnels
warm, smooth, and fatty
i want to find what's on the other side

i held my breath, but it's pointless
no one cares if i'm breathing anyway
see my body once again it got in the way

come, all the softness that i can hold in my hands
come, my forlorn hosanna
come to my throat and i'll drink you like milk
With a zippo in your pocket
Clenching an empty gas can
You watch as smoke deadens the sky
Over the bridges you were grateful..
To Burn

-JP
Being suicidal doesn't mean i'm going to **** myself

Being suicidal is having this unexplicable ache while you're living

It's waiting for your life to end, and wishing you didn't have to carry on

Having this ache, an incapability to feel happy living, doesn't mean that I am going to **** myself -

It just means I wouldn't mind dying.
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