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Your hand in mine
we walk into the places that lack radiance,
the places I've never shown anyone before.
Comfort me, you do.
Elusiveness my fallback.
I emptied you of your love,
your company no longer given.
Manipulation of the heart,
regret is my companion.
My hand now emptied,
though not just my hand but my heart,
places that used to be occupied by forgiveness,
though forgiveness no longer given.
Your heart turned grey with the passing of each day.
My being no longer wanted.
For LMGH. I miss you.
  Aug 2015 Molly Anna Sartor
GieAn
All the lovers stand under the moonlight
Holding hands while the sky is so bright
For them to be together forever
They must stay until the midnight is over

And I am here under the stars
Looking at the same moon with lonely scars
Alone, the cold wind whispered to me
*"Someone's waiting for you, too. You will see."
How do you explain living with a hole in your chest
as if talking about it somehow fills it
somehow makes it better
somehow makes the bitter pill easier to swallow
but talking about it doesn't make the sickness in my brain go away
or hurt any less
talking about it gives it shape and a body
gives it two legs to follow my every move
and two hands to wrap around my neck and choke the life out of me
it gives it lips and a tongue to whisper in my ear "it's better this way"
"they don't care about you"
"just one more inch off your waist,
one more pound off your body,
just one more year of your life"
I was barely fourteen when I tried to **** myself
First by slowly starving myself
Second, three years later with medication changes and razors  
There was nothing tragically beautiful about my sickness
About my downward spiral into self-loathing
Nothing glorious in my struggle to remember to breathe
I watched people my age having the time of their life
While I was stuck watching from the side because I was too sick,
Too fearful,
Too weak to join them
I shriveled away until I was half the girl I was before
Now two different medications later
I somehow learned to breathe again
Somehow relearned how to take care of myself
My chest is still a bomb site,
But it's no longer an open wound
No longer filled with hard liquor in hopes of catharsis
Sometimes recovery sounds a lot more like "I'll do better tomorrow"
Than "I'm sorry for today"
The truth is still a knife fight
But I'm not losing the war anymore.
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
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