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We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.
It's worth it though.
I never expected the attachment.
It came at me quickly and hit me
defenselessly from behind.
I was on my knees struggling to
rid the feelings I harbored.
It felt like the secret need I have,
to keep my favorite sweater hidden
away in the closet so it’ll never get ruined.
My heart felt heavy containing the
new information of territory uncharted.
I was expecting the unexpected,
until the expected got the better of me.
What hurts more,
The times where the pieces placed themselves
Or
The times where the pieces were nowhere to be found
  
?
her scars may seem too deep for you.
slashes on her wrist,
blue and yellow
bruises on her skin
and under her left eye.

but the deepest scars
are deeper than the skin
under that layer of filth
beneath the blood and bones
lies the most dangerous piece
of humanity
that can be scarred upon.

would you like to see my heart?
People always tell me
That they love my optimism

But what would they say
If they knew it was a mask

To hide my true
Melancholy away
I've been writing a bunch of these short drabbles lately. Maybe I'll title them someday.
you taught me how to smile
even if i wasnt happy
which leads me to believe
you werent happy when you were with me
Your hands wrapped around my neck so tight,
left me gasping for air,
but when I looked down I saw,
mine were the ones keeping them there.
i breathe
and the little glimmers of artificial light
are also real
hand on a white wall
felt for the first time
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