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 Sep 2014 sj
Margot Dylan
Dearest Reader,


My name is Margot Dylan, and I'm a pariah.

On the 16th of April, I told my mother that I was gay. She threw the clay mug that I made for her before she found out I was gay, against the floral, peeling wallpaper mess of a wall, in our kitchen. The decaffeinated peppermint green tea left a wonderful aroma that almost cleansed the room of the stench of 'lesbian'.

I met Dylan Dunham a few days after that, and, a few days later, she was the first girl that I ever loved.

Dylan wore a red flannel jacket, and was a butch and sometimes a *****-but I loved her even at her tomboy cruelest.

Dylan smoked a cigarette that smelled like lonerism, and she looked at me like she didn't care. My heart skipped a beat, as cliche as it sounds, whenever she would remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhale, and look at me as smoke traveled up her face. I looked at her and knew that she was everything that I wasn't, and everything that I wanted.

Dylan was Dianne, before and after school. Dylan was Dianne, who wore floral dresses and lipstick and who ditched her butch clothing in her locker before leaving. Dylan was Dianne, who was straight and who thought Tyler Wesson, from church, was cute. Dylan was Dianne, who had a short hair cut because of track and field, because she explained that she ran a faster time with less hair. Dylan was Dianne, who didn't associate with me before or after school because her parents knew that I was gay.

During school hours, the only thing Dylan did keep from Dianne was the lipstick. I was envious of the cigarette because of it's burgundy stains. We would stand in a stall, as she looked across from me, after each drag. She frequently offered her cigarettes, but I refused because I only let love **** me. If she ever brought alcohol, sometimes she'd kiss me. I told her that I loved her and she said, "I know."

The only thing that Dylan kept from me was my heart, before she started to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom with Annie Way.


I wish you the best moments so they can overcome the worst,

Margot Dylan
 Sep 2014 sj
Yam Kaplan
Borderline
 Sep 2014 sj
Yam Kaplan
At first I was a little effexor,
though my pulse hurried to get cipralex.


My dreams were ****** and clonex,
so trazodone I could barely feel my fingertips,
yet zodorm enough to wake up in a cuckoo's nest.


Pulling me out of my psychiatric diagnosis
was never as easy as pulling me out of my morals

and clothes.
 Sep 2014 sj
Kevin
"i really like you"*

she said

but i didn't know

what to answer

because i already loved her

and i didn't want

to scare her away
 Aug 2014 sj
Hayleigh
Untitled
 Aug 2014 sj
Hayleigh
And i could pick every petal off every flower in every country, and still would you love me not.
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