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Imagine yourself
a linear expression of experience,
a long strip of film like
the kind in old projectors with the
sepiatic sputters and flickers--
yes! Imagine yourself a strip of film but
rolled up messily like
the earbuds in your pocket or
folding fitted bedsheets.
You are a movie and the filmstrip endpiece lies at your feet,
you are knots and coils and tangles and
if you were to lie down at the top of this mountain for a moment--just a moment!--perhaps
the wind would catch the loops of film and
you would feel yourself
unravel.
It was there, on that old log where she sat
under the trees cover, she talked to the moon
where she told him, I cause my own pain
as the wind quietly hummed her favorite tune.

She said,

The scars I bare are not just from the hands of others
not all are caused by the hurtful thundering rain
some are caused because I love too deeply
on that old log, she told him, I cause my own pain.

She said,

I cause my own pain, because I feel too deeply
I’ve loved when I shouldn’t have, way too much
I’ve longed for, dreamed of, desired for
just one certain, from just one…. A touch…..

She said,

To the tearing moon, I cause my own pain…….


The moon said, to Her

It was there, on that old log where you sat
while the wind hummed, your favorite song
that I touched you, ever so gently with light
to lead you in the direction, where you belong.

He said to her…

I touched you ever so gently with my light
to lead you to a heart, like you’ve never known
one, who like you has loved and felt deeply
who knows pain but also, the love you have shown.

He said to her…

Tis true you’ve longed for, dreamed of, desired for
but you’ve also given, and loved so very much
I’ve touched you, ever so gently with my light
so that you can feel, just one certain, from just one….

His touch….
----
1. no beauty

was it beautiful?
like sitting at a desk
riddled with indents from
keeping the scissors away from skin
rocking back and forth
with only one thing circling
through an addled mind
the overwhelming urge to die
feeling ready to write that final
chapter on a life barely lived

was it beautiful?
forty pills that seemed like
enough at the time
choked down with soda water
and so many built up tears
feeling the rot of depression
absorbing the medicine that was
supposed to make things better
*******

was it beautiful?
regretting waking up hours later
younger sibling in the next room
noticing the stumble
the swearing that came from
feeling organs clench and shatter
but nothing coming up

was it beautiful?
admitting to taking so many pills
tongue feeling shredded by the words
being asked to stay awake
but only feeling so much anger
at having failed
at waking up again
at still being alive

was it beautiful?
three psych wards
every time a voluntary check in
unable to stay safe
healing scars
bashing limbs against every hard surface
ripping open old wounds
both inside and out
there is nothing beautiful
in self destruction

2. no romance

was it romantic?
hospital beds and an iv
in the back of a shaking hand
monitored bathroom breaks
too many to count while a body
too young to feel so old
purged itself of so many toxins

was it romantic?
fingernails chewed down to nothing
ragged cuticles
raw and ****** knuckles
because those hurt just a little bit less
than constantly pulling open
scabbed over splits in
gnawed on lips

was it romantic?
looking for love to give to others
not leaving enough behind to keep
not caring about that
too busy wanting to go home
please fix this
make the hurt go away
make everything shiny and new again

was it romantic?
unable to find respite
from the mental onslaught
in the unmarred arms of another
because illness and depression
do not care about
kissing scars to heal them
or boxes of chocolate
or roses
or whispered “i love you”s
because life is not a
teen romance novel

was it romantic?
wanting to die
even while sitting next to
that person that made things
not hurt so bad
and feeling guilty about fresh cuts
fresh bruises
burn marks that could be explained
away as accidents

was it romantic?
mass media certainly seems to think so
here’s looking at you
john green and jay asher
because why should people have
struggles if they can’t be candy-coated
and wrapped up in neat little bows
with complementary
packets of tissues on the side

was it romantic?
smelling of blood
and sweat from so many nightmares and terrors
trembling and shaking
racked by guilt and anxiety
waiting for an ulcer
waiting for something to happen
to make it seem worthwhile
because in mental illness and trauma
there is no prince
no princess
no damsel in distress
no disney movie happy ending
there is no romance
in wanting
to constantly die
Romance is like Hell, its hot and fiery and you're guaranteed to get burned. It is a way to feel. A way of life. It is crazy and unnatural yet something about it is luring and contagious and you can not ever get enough.
The 'I love you's are the gate way to this place with no return as an absolute. But after a while and it calms, the heat becomes overpowering and knocks you sideways .
Romance is hell, its hot and fiery and you are going to get burned.
 May 2017 Liliana Jaworska
Avery
my voice is spun glass,
as fragile as the wings of a butterfly taking it's first flight out of it's cocoon.
so long my voice has remained unused,
drowned out in the voices of others,
whisked away in the hurricane that is my thoughts.
my voice is weak and unfamiliar,
even to myself.
it's not as strong as the sea.
it can't sustain life, or  drown it away.
the force of it alone is not crushing;
it is feather-light

the secret about poetry is that it changes things,
just as the ocean does.
when you hardly ever speak,
it can give you the power to transform your voice into something better.

a fragile voice,
frail with disuse,
becomes a force of it's own.
it becomes a gale.

i do not need a voice like the ocean.
i have a voice of my own.
spoken word/free verse, from english one (modified)
14.05.2017
if you ever ask me
how great my day went by
do not dare to listen
for it will all be lies

if you ever ask me
when was the last time I laughed
make me smile then
it has been ages since I had it

if you ever ask me
how extraordinary my life is
turn your back and find someone else
my life has never been as exetraordinary as theirs

if you ever ask me
where did my old self go
dont come find her
she has already been lost
It has been months since i last posted so here you go
Tempting,
to test your luck, to push
the boundaries until they
break and let loose like
floodgates.

It may destroy a lot, but it sure as hell changes the landscape.

Besides,
there is a sort of sick beauty
in watching something
come apart, something
terrible and mesmerizing
about destruction.  

See, there are some parts of god I understand.

And you,
always you with the other
answers, about love and
mercy and all that rot.

Together we sing the pieces, you said.

It's all we can do.
It's all we know.
more stream of consciousness than anything
We
we** are everything but broken
and
we are nothing but beautiful
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