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Some people think they know what pain is.
I'll tell you what pain is.

Pain is accidentally using your astringent instead of your eye makeup remover.
Pain is stepping on a lego barefoot.
Pain is stubbing your pinky toe on the same table leg for the 50th time.

Pain is taking responsibility for something that wasn't your fault simply because you're an "adult."
Pain is shedding a tear for the close friend who committed suicide over a year ago.
Pain is thinking about the last look of recognition before your grandfather's death.

Pain is feeling like you can never be honest with anyone about what you are truly feeling.
Pain is the fear that you may not ever find "the one."
Pain is caring too much for people who will never love you.

Pain is realizing that everything you believed in might be false.
Pain is knowing that the people you trusted have lied to you.
Pain is understanding that they were only doing what they thought was right.

This is my pain.
What's yours?
 Sep 2014 Madison McCray
Syd
it was late one winter night
when I first realized
I was fighting a war I would never win
a fight that was fought within my own skin
skin that I realized
I would never feel comfortable in
now
I look at freckles like name tags
scars like reminders
and bruises as memories
that I wish I did not remember
I've since become accustomed to
long sleeves and blue jeans
and people asking things
like "how did you get that one?"
"oh, the door," I would quietly say,
never to tell that the door
had a name.
 Sep 2014 Madison McCray
Syd
the invisible struggle that exists between wanting to write and not wanting people to know is named after you. late nights and sharpie scrawls on crumpled pieces of paper that will never see the outside of a trashcan. the insides of my eyelids and the paper slips kissed by dull pencil tips are the only ones who will ever know. 3 a.m is the closest thing I've ever had to a friend. the silence is deafening and sleeping is an impossible paradise because I belong on the opposite end of the world. somehow I know that no number of miles will suffice in the category of distance between our bodies. its been months but I still smell the alcohol on your breath that is a little too close to my ear. your hand by my thigh. a warmth on my neck that shouldn't even exist and I can hear myself saying no but my mouth isn't moving and I dont even ******* want to sit here and make rhymes about that night because you aren't ******* worth any of it. you aren't worth a ******* rhyme or a poem or a metaphor because you ruined *everything.
Missing you is the hardest thing
I've ever had to do
And I'm so tired of pretending I'm okay when I'll never be okay again
I caught myself
daydreaming
of you
again.
Your lips
burning holes
in my throat.
"Is this okay?"
Yes.
It is.
I shake my head
Once,
Twice,
to get you out.
math
focus on math
But ******,
you're better
than math.
 Sep 2014 Madison McCray
amie
i.
i know that the ear is connected to the nose and the nose is connected to the throat and the throat is connected to the mouth
which is probably why, when we kiss, i hear symphonies
and when i hear "i love you" travel from your lips to my ear
i taste bliss on the tip of my tongue

ii.
i read somewhere that smell is most strongly attached to memory
this means that i will keep your t shirt forever, and maybe your shampoo, too
apparently photographs are not enough

iii.
someone told me that it is not the eyes, but the brain that sees
eyes are just transmitters
but what i see in front of me must be love because it does not register with my mind at all
but my heart translates it beautifully for me
it knows exactly why its own beat becomes erratic when you enter my thoughts
it knows exactly what's going on in this tenement of flesh i call my body

iv.
they say that the last of the five senses is not touch, but equilibrium
which is probably why, when i don't feel your hands in mine
when there is air and not skin
my whole world is off-kilter
i know what it means to fall in love
This isn't about anyone in particular, just what I feel like love would feel if I ever get to feel it.
i'm sorry i cried
the first time
you  called me
beautiful.
it's just,
everyone that's called
me that
leaves.
honestly,
i dont give a ****
if you think
i'm beautiful.
all i'm asking
is that you
stay.
When you asked for my heart
I gave all four chambers to you.
I painted the walls and hung each picture to your exact specifications.
I put in new carpet and vacuumed the drapes and tilted the couches like so.
And when everything was perfect you moved in, and I finally felt at home.
Then one day you decided to leave but my heart was still made for you.
Still is in fact furnished
just the way you left it.
And when I bring people over, it doesn't quite feel the same.
Because now my heart is a house
not a home.
The chambers are painstakingly empty
waiting for your return.
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