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 Apr 2013 Emilie
Zedler
[girl]
 Apr 2013 Emilie
Zedler
Beauty so awkward.
Your flaws tell you you aren't thin.
Wish to change who you are cause of the discomfort
in your own skin.

Shed it like a snake.
wait for it to dry
and harden as time moves by.

I miss your old skin.
Beautiful with all it's imperfections.
Ignore your inner thoughts.
Slowly learn to resent them.

Writing these lines for you.
Snort them.
Quickly learn to adore them.

See it disappear
as it travels up your nostril.
You realize my words are in your system
and you no longer feel awful.

As you start to relax
you've realized you relapsed.
Words travel quick
and tickle your synapse. Fast forward
watch the timelapse as you reach the peak or should
I say the ******. This drug is so pure,
no errors of syntax.
Not even at your core yet
while I'm aiming at your cortex.

These are my words.
Become addicted to them.
Refer to them when your thoughts come in contact with deception.
Use my words to forcefully change your perception.

No more pain I promise.
Promise these words are honest and
honestly I'll keep convincing you of your
beauty till I'm exhausted.

Self esteem.
Here to lift it.
Even though I drifted and veered
from my intended path,
I'm here to help get rid of something
awful you refer to as your past.

Take my hand.
Extend mine to help you up.
Cause I've been on the ground too
when no one would simply show up.

You've been hurt.
Your wings are broken.
Let me mend them as a token
of appreciation for enlightening
the world with a smile so contagious
that would lead all to believe that
you're perfect.

perfection.
Not what I was searching
but that's what I stumbled upon.

Your scars make you perfect.
They make you human.

You exhale an excess of words
while I inhale. I feel the words
touring to my synapse making
my brain as warm as wool.

I guess even my own words
can make me fall in love with
someone
beautiful.
You want to know what I want?

       A proper date.
    Flowers. Not always. Once every few months is fine.
  To be wooed, courted a bit.
Gooooooood ***. Bodies drenched and flushed.
A **** Fine Kiss. (Suddenly gathered in someone's arms in the middle of the street.
   The kind that leaves you breathless, panting, and needing more.)
     A good cuddle on the sofa during THE WALKING DEAD.
       Hours of intellectual conversation as foreplay.

You want to know what I get?*

Hanging out with friends.
    Pictures of flowers sent to my Facebook inbox.
      Someone letting me know they're quite keen on me, but only until I show an interest back.
        Half-hearted whatever-the-hell that's supposed to be.
           Lazy kisses where the mind wanders.
        Forcing my dog to cuddle during walker attacks.
     Having to explain what "Beware the Ides of March" means. Among too many other things.
   Mind games.
And secret messages so their wives don't see.

I get creepsters
and/or
married men
and/or
people from out of town/state/country who fancy me.

That last one's not bad, mind you. Just not very possible.*

So if you're keen...
ask yourself...

...which one of those categories do you fall under?
Feeling ****** today. It happens. I just don't usually voice it...certainly not in public.
 Mar 2013 Emilie
gg
M
 Mar 2013 Emilie
gg
M
Let me tell you about a girl I know

She lives in a brick house,
But her mind's encased in one-way glass
She can see through others,
But she rarely says what she's thinking

She drinks to feel free
But finishing the bottle doesn't make the boys love her
It just breaks the rules,
Something that is all too ordinary,
all too easy for her

You want to believe that she's dependable, she's responsible,
But her only certainty is her constant lies

As smart as she is,
She finds herself in the middle--
Caught in someone else's game-- all too often

She's never without a joke or prank,
Wears them like sunglasses
So that no one can see the emotions behind her eyes

She's begging for security
She's a liar, a manipulator,
A girl starved for something real

And she won't let herself have it
 Mar 2013 Emilie
Zedler
[sand]
 Mar 2013 Emilie
Zedler
Every night in my sleep
I play the scene
I've never witnessed.

Sand in your face.
Shells hitting the ground.
Visibility reduced to nothing.

Contemplating memories
as my anger cultures sorrow
and melancholy.

Anger for not being better.
Purposely missing the concert
you've always wanted to attend.
Forgetting that dinner and how
I wish I had that time again.

Forgetful, but you stayed.
Wish you could've stayed.
Memory will fade as I plead for you to
please stay.

In the mail I got a phony plaque
that won't bother to bring you back.
You said not to stay up too late
while waiting for you to come back.
I want you back.
I want you back.
I want my love that was dispatched
to Iraq and never came back.

— The End —