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 Jul 2014 meg
unwritten
i don't know if you remember it. those times when i was in love with you. maybe they're shoved in the back of your brain, in a cabinet marked 'useless.' you might never meet me, anyway. why should you care?
i don't know if you know that you broke me. but you did. i don't blame you, though. why would you want me, anyway?
i don't know if you still bring a blade to your precious skin because you think you're worthless. but you aren't. you're so incredible. your mind still amazes me. and i love you. i may not be in love with you, but i love you. and i want to be in love with you.
i don't know if you still think of me. i know you probably don't.
but, god, i hope you do.

dearly,
a.m.
i try to say what needs to be said.
 Jun 2014 meg
sarah bell
addiction
 Jun 2014 meg
sarah bell
my mother once warned me of
addiction
in the form of a bottle
but never told me about
you
and your pale blue eyes would
drive me to every AA meeting
I've ever been to
(s.j.b)
 Jun 2014 meg
Ominous
Does my poetry
harm you?
I'm sorry
i only mean to
slip my blades on
myself
but sometimes
i forgot they hide
inside my thoughts
as well.
 May 2014 meg
unwritten
celestial
 May 2014 meg
unwritten
the skies are shifting.

the brightest stars are over your head now, aren't they?

and here i sit,
with a cluster of crestfallen storm clouds
and extinguished stars
dancing above my head,
mocking me,
telling me
screaming at me
that i should have done it
while i had the chance.

but it's too late now.

because the skies are shifting,
and you are a million miles
above me
with the brightest of stars
and lightest of clouds,
clinking champagne glasses
and toasting
to a bright future.

you're moving on.

i guess it's time i do, too.

but it's hard.

because you
were the person who i always trusted
to brush the storm clouds away
and, in their place,
paint luscious streaks of white
with the patterns of your soul.

but you're moving on.

the skies are shifting,
and here i will sit
with a cluster of crestfallen storm clouds
and extinguished stars
dancing above my head,
mocking me,
telling me
screaming at me
that i should have done it
while i had the chance.

(a.m.)
i kinda like this and kinda don't
thoughts?
I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.
 May 2014 meg
Love
Eat
 May 2014 meg
Love
Eat
Is that the lowest moment?
When you don't dare to wear shorts because of the scars that cover your legs.
And then you're sitting there at the dinner table with your family,
And they keep on telling you to eat,
But all you mutter is "I'm not hungry",
When you actually are.
You're starving but your image is worth more than a meal.
You eat a few bites just to shut them up,
And then run to the bathroom to rid yourself of it,
To make sure you can fit into those jeans,
The ones that could stand you losing another 5 pounds.
You get used to the lies of:
"I'm not hungry"
"I ate before I came"
And "oh yeah I'm fine, just tired".
Is that your lowest point,
When the only food you're feeding yourself is lies?
 May 2014 meg
Jazmine Moore
If
 May 2014 meg
Jazmine Moore
If
I could keep writing you poems you'll never read

Or I could put my pen down and bandage my own heart

Either way, I would still lose because I wouldn't have you
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