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He took me
He used me
He ruined me
From the inside out

All that's left
Is me standing in front of the mirror
Staring back at the shattered shards
Of a me that used to be

He took me
He used me
He ruined me
From the outside in

All that's left
Is me standing in front of the mirror
Staring back at a damaged reflection
Of the me that used to be

He took me
He used me
He ruined me
From my mind to my soul

All that's left
Is me standing in front of the mirror
Staring back at a reflection put back together using bandaids
And wounds washed away using cheap alcohol
A reflection that's trying to be the me that used to be
First draft. But I hate what he did to me.
 Aug 2014 Nick Durbin
grace
the babbling creek reminds me
that sometimes it's best to shut up.
the dandelion leaves fly through the air,
scattered just like my thoughts.
i want to feel the wind on my face
just like i felt before.
my teeth chatter and my fingers crack
just because i need you more.
the starry sky is my treasure map,
i follow it all the way.
looking up at it,  i've learned from it
just how to stay on track.
the loneliness sleeps in my bed,
but it's not all that's there.
you could say that i prefer it,
but i say that's not fair.
just listen.

my brother says that one day i'll be
away from this place.
another lifetime, another state,
just something else to hate.
the doctor says i still have time
to become an employee
to work my life from 9-5
and to never feel that free.
i've read some books that tell me
that's not the case and there's still something out for me.
i roll my eyes and bite my lips
cause i don't know who to believe.
and if i asked you what you thought,
you wouldn't know the half.
time's like this where i see why
i'm never going back.
i'm staying.
*really doesn't have anything to do with treasure maps
Your Gray-Blue Eyes Mimic The Sea,
For They Glimmer Beneath The Sun,
Yet When The Sky Sheds Gentle Tears,
Your Heart Churns With A Sour Rage,
Devouring Each Ray Of Light,
Therefore, Leaving None To Spare,
Which Then Turns Daytime's Brilliance,
Into A Cold And Starless Night
Can't You See What I Sea In You?

My Heart Is A Sailboat Upon Your Soul's Churning Waters.
I tried to be a journalist,
but I am not.
I tried to be a curator,
but I am not.
I tried to be a writer,
but I am not.
I tried to be a poet,
but I am not.
I tried to be a human,
And then — I slept soundly.
we don't touch.
the
an
ti
ci
pa
tion
BURNS ME.
From birth
he fed on her snow
her sun,
her sweat,
her tears,
her ancient years.

he swam between
her skinny ways,
shrouded in seaweed
in shallows he stole
her plankton.

slick and spiny
he preyed,
electric
he shocked,
and shadowed
her moonlight thunder.

poked his head
in her crevices,
rode in her waves,
and stirred her current.

But he was in her,
like the snow.
And despite his bad manners,
she preferred him inside her
than to be stuck on the sand,
in another's land.
Pants hang from my tree;
so please knock —
before bothering me.

I'm not homeless.

The park is my shelter
The grass, my bed.
The wind, my comforter
and sunny California,
my adopted mother.
life run amuk

resets with human *touch.
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