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Mar 2014 · 360
Pretty
Joanne Berger Mar 2014
I remember the first time I felt beatiful
It was 1:36 am in the morning and I was still trying to fall into that dark relapse we call sleep.
Tumblr led to to oodles of words saying "you are beautiful and we love you"
and it was all a lie.
I am fat, boisterous, *****, unloveable, spineless, tricky, rude, dumb, mean, weak and awful human being.
As my mother puts it best "You ****."
No matter how many times my man would hug me kiss and tell me I am beautiful i would always face the need to tell him to shut up
You could tell all 273 pouds of me to go eat a salad and I wouldn't.
rather I would sulk in those words and add them to my jar of hate for myself and such vile, searing syllables would string together in such colaliton that always included the words FAT and ****.
and trusting, foolish me would believe it.
yet I would still deny any and all complements bestowed upon me by those who claim to care and cherish me.
I would systematically shut down every kiss, smile, phrase, and action that would benefit my non existent self confidence.
I say sorry after every opinion I state.
Someone raised me to believe that my ugly words were a disgrace.
My unsightly thoughts that protruded form my mind that was encased in this fat, unhealthy body of mine were a disgrace and needed to apologized for.
Somewhere along the line I was guided to believe I was ugly, forign, and unwanted.
And everyone was told the same message yet they all still scream to the nights of the internet and the literature that they, that you, that I am pretty.
Yet there I would stand, with a knife at hand, waiting for the bravery to strive me to carve my flesh because I thought he didn't love all of me. because they didn't care for the total package I so desparatly tried to sell them.
The first time I felt beautiful wasn't because I finally realized I was always such.
It was because I saw it was okay to love myself without feeling bad.
At 1:36 am there's no one to apologize to.
And for being worth it-- I am not sorry.
Feb 2014 · 288
Untitled
Joanne Berger Feb 2014
His cold hand brushed up against my skin.
My cries subsided, the ocean calmed
It seemed like so many nights ago we fell in love

A gaze for a slap
A kiss for a punch
It was a beating well deserved

Thrusting onto the bed
Crumbling against a wall
Me Screaming through it all

His eyes were so warm and kind, both filled with desire
One for love
The other for blood

He then knelt down by my side
His words soft and reassuring
Another intricate lie to believe

His voice would rock me, eventually breaking me at the core
The waves would then rise
Crashing onto my battered shore

I should swim away
I must free myself
My heart longs for refuge

But I stay in his arms, slowly suffocating in his grip
There are few good men in the world
And this time I played for keeps
Oct 2013 · 681
Lunar
Joanne Berger Oct 2013
Tis a dark hour when the moon rises
Casting its cold shadow over our bleak house
I sit, resting in its pale aura
But unlike the cold moon my heart beat of a raging fire
One full of hatred and deciet
With every pulse I grow farther and farther away from my faith Because sitting in this moonlight I can hear him calling,
"Come hither"
"Come hither"
Through the fire within I race towards the moonlight
Only to be stopped by the lord himself
In this moonlight I cry out, "I am not to be stopped by thee, lord!" Tis then I jump
From the balcony railing I sat upon
Falling the Lord warns me of my fate
But I am not worried because the fire in me is starting to die
The torment would Freeing me of the burden of second chances As the ground comes near I can't help but smile
Even as I displeased the Lord
For the moonlight knew what was best

— The End —