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Lyra Brown Mar 2013
The moment you finish a good book

Is like the moment you step out of the shower

You savour it while you can

While also still knowing

That nothing lasts forever.

I guess it’s a good thing

I am a creature of a repetitive nature

So I can always go back

To good books and showers.

(While also still knowing

That nothing lasts forever.)
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
one thing is for sure:
it's easier
to replace something
than to change something.

for a long time she turned away from the mirror
and watched herself replace
scars with *****,
validating it because at least
she was only hurting herself
one way and not both.

for a long time i moved away from my mother
and turned into a doormat disguised
as a magnet that attracted
people that used me just as often,
and loved me just as little and wondered
why i still felt the same level of worthlessness at the end of the day
that i felt as a little girl.

for a long time i pushed people away
and to this day
i wish someone would have told me
how childhood abandonment will stick with you
through the long haul of adulthood,
but no one did and so i watched people leave
and wondered why they left, where they went
and for the people who stayed, i wondered
why they were still here, and how much more awful of a person
did i have to be
to get them to leave me.

"you wanted this." some would say,
when they found me drenched with sweat and blood and tears
sobbing on the floor
"get up. stop crying. you're being pathetic."
and i agreed with them, because i didn't know
any better.

it's easier
to replace your feelings with somebody else's
it's easier to blame yourself for why others left you
it's easier to assume no one will ever love you
more than they love getting drunk and having fun

but a good friend of mine once told me,
the easy thing is very rarely the right thing
and that maybe she should take her own advice
and that in retrospect, yes,
replacement is the signature replica of how you were raised
but real change,
that is the true definition of a life transition.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
She was five years old when she first stepped on a plane
The stranger next to her smiled and asked,
“Where are you headed, honey?”
She gazed out the window, smiled and said
“To the one place it doesn't hurt to stare.
I'm going to the moon."
Her mother brushed her hair back gently and whispered to the stranger,
“It must have been so beautiful to be so oblivious, hey?”
And they both laughed discreetly as if she hadn’t heard.

But what they didn’t know
Was that she was always listening
And she knew
That they
Were wrong.

She was struck with sadness when the plane landed
And she found herself standing on the same planet she had left,
She cried for days
That was her first taste
Of true disappointment.

“What is reality?” She would ask her mother
Every night before bed.
“Reality is what you know.
Nothing is as it seems though, baby.
Sweet dreams.” Her mother would say,
As she turned out the light and gently shut the door.

That was her first taste
Of self awareness.

From then on she knew
That she would never again rely
On other people to give her what she needed -
Answers, affection, safety, love.

From then on she knew
That she would always  be dependant on
Everyone she did not know,
Everything she could not touch,
And every place she could not be.

That was the beginning
Of when she split herself in
Two
And it all began
With almost landing on the moon.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
divorce
is like sitting in a waiting room for 3 years
with tape placed over your eyes and mouth
so all you can do
is listen to
the war wondering
what will happen who will win and when
you can start to feel something again.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
remember the first time you got drunk
your best friend brought over a 2'6 of *****
and you drank it like it was water like you had been
stranded in a desert for 40 days and 40 nights
your parents were outside too oblivious to notice
recklessness was a contagious disease in that house
and you all had caught it sadly, willingly, restlessly
by the time 6am came around you woke up with your
best friend on your right, and a pile of puke on your left
you placed your sheets in the washing machine without rinsing
the ***** off of them first
so it was just sheets mixed with puke and water,
swishing around,
and it took you years to realize
that nothing could ever get clean
that way.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
Like Sylvia,
I too, wanted to be important by being
Beautiful
But because I associate ugly things
With being beautiful
A sense of importance
Is purely fleeting and fragmented,
Like the sound of my mother playing piano
And not finishing the peice.
Lyra Brown Feb 2013
I'm very good
At putting all my hopes and dreams
In someone else's hands
And watching them slip through
That persons fingers
Like sand
I'm clumsy and fragile
And I hate myself too much
To own up to my own desires

I'm very good
At making people fall in love with me
For the pure benefit of my ego
To make sure I have some kind of comfort left
At the end of the day
Because waking up and finding a reason to live
Is difficult, and most people I'm around
Don't understand that

Why the delay?
They ask
Hasn't it been like three years and you've done
Nothing?

Yes, I'm getting older
I'm getting braver though too
I'm easily impatient
They don't understand
I love too hard too fast  too soon
I give and give and give
And I lose, too.

I'm very good at hiding
The difficulty of days where it is
Physically impossible to get out of bed
And in the meantime,
Time is watching me from above
Adding up each failure and using
Other human beings to remind me
What I could potentially
Be throwing away
While I'm sitting here watching
A silent film about sand
Slipping through
Fingers running
Out of popcorn.
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