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Julia Betancourt Oct 2017
my skin is not perfect
some parts are smoother than others

i find it so peaceful
how you can touch me in every place
yet it's when you feel the roughest parts
where you kiss me and tell me

there isn't one thing you'd rather be different
Julia Betancourt Aug 2017
-
easily, i feel alone
Julia Betancourt Aug 2017
i am
in love again

and i am
alive again
Julia Betancourt Aug 2017
i was young and
didn't know what i was doing
i made it all mean
nothing
i made it
easy
i let them hold me and then
do what they wanted

and there's this ache
not being able to let you
touch me
you are
the person i want to remember
touching me last

it's like i'm watching you
through a glass window
and i can't feel your warmth
or just
your ******* ******* touch

i want
to feel something

i want
to be clean

you are my ticket
out of here
away from
unwanted memories and
unwanted company

you give me
freedom
i can think clearly
with you
and for those few minutes
or hours
or seconds
depending on the moment
i get to forget
about who they were
and what they did
because all that matters
is right now
and us

and so when i tell you
you don't know
how much you mean to me
it's because you don't

they killed me
and left me laying dead
all used and worn out
and torn
but when i feel
even the slightest sway
of your fingertips
on my cheek
i am alive again
and i feel
as if i never lost anything
or better
like they never even touched me
Julia Betancourt Aug 2017
there is this certain
feeling of burning
in being hated
for what you see

or what you can't see

because of ways that your mind
does and does not work

this feeling of
disgust
and evil
and your hands
now seem too slender
bony

you are
a part of something scary
and dead
you can pick apart
your face
and skin

every
beauty mark
as you go along your body
it now all seems
ugly
and bumpy
imperfection
is housed in your figure

and now
all i can see
is *****, stained skin
the farthest thing
from perfect

but

you already saw all of this
in me, didn't you?
Julia Betancourt Aug 2017
i wonder

if the miles between us

ever think to let go

just let this pair of

young, hopeless kids

finally touch each other's faces

but every morning i wake up

alone

in this bed fit for one

yet seemingly growing by the minute

and i see the miles don't care

about us or

what we feel

they only care to

keep us away

that's what they're there for

not that they

are trying

to keep us apart

but

they aren't meant to bring us

closer together

either
Julia Betancourt Aug 2017
she wanted to die.
like you,
except, only once
at a time where you loved her
but didn't know it yet.

she - brown eyes,
perfect smile (at least you think so),
dimples, white teeth, obnoxious laugh.
you - tripping fingers, shaky hands,
full lungs, tapping feet,
brown eyes.

the two of you, dull.
unnoticed, like the warning labels
on your bottle of painkillers
and her prozac.

the warmth, absent and missing
like the liquor someone must
have taken from the refrigerator.

you thought, it's useless
to live for nothing except pain and
numbness and numbness
and numbness.

she thought, it's useless
to live for nothing.

the two of you, wanting to die
trying to die
but didn't. couldn't,
like that one time you wouldn't
get out of bed.

and now, together.
both smiling, laughing fully
but not complete.

the warmth, there but
not burning.
about just enough to keep a
fire going.

though she swears she feels
the heat,
you are still gaining back
your fingertips
from the numbness.
numbness.

numbness.

you thought, it's useless
to die if she is here.
and now, living.

the missing, gone
like the old medicine you flushed
instead of taking.

and your brown eyes, still dull.
hers, too.
except louder, now, and shinier.
demanding, like the heavy parts of the earth.

together, and complete.

she wanted to die.
and you wanted to die, too.
and "never again"
she says, "because you're never
leaving me,
and i'm never leaving you."
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