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Nicole May 2019
Right in the glimpse of summer in a excessively hot January, a sister was born.
4 years and a couple weeks early a bother was born.
They were bred into the complications of non-nobility, middle class income and the worst of all, unconditional love from the breders.

She was a mess but tried to be perfect. She tried to accomplish every goal and set herself standards that were impossible to achieve, but she tride. And failed. And wanted to die. But dying was failing.

He was a mess and wanted everyone to know. He'll punch a whole trough his door, call everyone names, sell ilegal substances and then try to fix it by saying he was sad and tried to justify everything. No one ever knew what his true intentions were, but she knew there was something hidden. Something he was not telling.

Their mom was perfect. She truly was and everything they ever wanted was to make her happy but them both seemed to fail. Miserably. But she loved them both more than words could yell into an ocean of failures.

But it was a curse. A curse for the sister that seeked perfection, aproval and a love that could be measure or worth of the effort she made. But everything she got was the same unconditional love, split in half. Not a tiny bit more.

And that was her curse. She had to live being disappointed at herself because she wanted to know why no one understood why she deserved more. Why couldn't she get more love than him? Why should they be equals when she's done better, brighter, smarter, accurate things that him?

She wanted to **** him. And maybe she should.
Nicole Apr 2019
It's the first time in almost 4 years
And I felt nothing
No remorse, no pain, a little bit of stinging pleasure but now it's all numb again
No guilt, no sorrow,
Yet no happiness, no craving, no intentions

Nothing
Relapsed and dull
Nicole Feb 2019
My skin claims ink
As much as my wrists
Claim them blades,
The itching, the stinging
The aching
The pain
Oh, sweet pain
The bleeding
The reminder
I'm still alive
                        And completely in
                        control of staying that
                        way
Nicole Jan 2019
I've always struggled.
To make friends, to fit in, to be okay and even to like myself,
It's been a war, a fight and a constant pain,
I always struggle not to cry,
I always struggle not to break,
I feel as if all the looks were on me but in the bad way,
Every glance is a constant ache to makesure my flaws aren't showing,
But you'll never know,
Because my scars are faded and covered by tattoos,
I rock bathing suits and pretend I don't give a ****...
But I do, I do, I do
Nicole Jan 2019
I'll make you come with me to get my skin inked as a first date, and I'll never explain the meaning of the forever words in my skin, or why I already have 3 words that live within me plastered in my forearm, or why I caress it so often

I'll text you every now and then and be flirty, then ignore you for a couple of days... Just to come back and beg you to kiss me, then I'll take things a bit too far and touch you down there... Maybe twice, turn my cheeks red and pretend nothing happened

Then I'll ignore you for two days more.

On the third day, I'll go to your house, lightheaded, and get drunk on your green eyes I haven't properly admired yet, tell you how my dogs are my most valuable thing or how my Pandora bracelet carries a couple secrets, never really letting you know about them.

You'll admire how mature I am, how driven and eloquent I am with words. You'll laugh at my attempts of being funny and I'll bite my lips and wish you understood I want to taste you entirely.

And maybe I'll bring myself to it and you'll probably forget it, but I'll add you to my list and draw a heart next to your name. You know, just in case.

Month 3 and you'll get bored on my schedule, how I'd rather stay silent and drunk and cry and write, of the hours I don't spend loving you because I have already lost so much **** time loving everything else, and you'll leave...

Silently, paciently, waiting and expecting me to turn my head and look for you. But I wont. Because I'll be hoping you come back.

And I'll be ruined for a few months, fill this page with sad and obnoxious poems about how love isn't real and then...

I'll get another tattoo appointment.
And the cycle repeats.
Nicole Dec 2018
Era marzo del 2014 y yo tenía una maleta llena de sueños, unos cuantos cortes en el brazo y ojos llenos de lágrimas. Me aferraba al alma de una persona que no me enseño quién era en realidad hasta que sus cadenas atravesaban mi pecho y respirar dolía. Cada paso, cada palabra, cada mirada, dolía. Era marzo del 2014 y estaba viva por que bueno, así lo quizo la vida. Y la vida es divertida por que te pone a las personas correctas en el momento incorrecto y de la forma más extraña posible. Como cuando lo conocí, tenía lentes redondos, ojos tan verdes que podías ver todo tu dolor en ellos pero él no se lo imaginaba, pequeños puntitos en el rostro que él detestaba pero a mí me parecían interesantes, y brazos que nunca acababan. Todo empezó así, derrepente. Era marzo del 2014 y en un solo período académico me contó todo. Desde lo que quería ser, lo que no, lo que quería que los demás supieran y descifre lo que no. Poco a poco, como quitandole los petalos a una rosa y con el pasar los meses conocí a la verdadera persona que querría por el resto de mi vida.

Era marzo del 2015 y yo lo único que quería era morir. Otra vez. Todo empezo de nuevo y estaba aprisionada en una paralela a la avenida Arequipa entre un espejo roto y alguien que me decía que me amaba pero, siempre había un pero.
+ "Me volvió a botar de su casa"
- "Lárgate de ahí, Nicole, por favor vete"

Pero no me fuí.
Con puntos y comas, y ortografía y sonrisas y llantos y abrazos perfectos.

Era julio del 2015 y estaba por morirme. Cerca. Me acuerdo que un día solamente no pude y me senté en medio de la Avenida Larco a llorar. Solo a llorar. Y me tomo de la mano y me dijo "Vamos".
Y esa vez si fuí.
Y todo estuvo bien.

+ "No puedo"
- "Si puedes, ya voy"

Y venía. Y vino cada vez, cada momento, cada llanto. Respondió cada llamada, cada mensaje.

Hasta que todo se empezó a desmoronar en su propia vida. Y empezaron a crecer los petalos de las rosas otra vez y yo ya no podía sacarlos. Las espinas no me dejaban por que me hacía daño y no quiero sangrar más.

Era un par de días antes de mi cumpleaños en el 2017. Y llego a mí con una mirada que nunca me voy a olvidar, y lo supe. Y lo sabía. Y lo dijo. Y sentí como su mundo se venía abajo, y con el de él el mío y en ese momento prometí que nunca dejaría que se sienta como yo me sentí aquel invierno del 2013 cuando compararme con hormigas era mi mayor ocupación e imaginaba como deshacerme de ellas.
Pero, una vez más, falle.

Y en el invierno del 2018 me di cuenta que no podía seguir tapando el sol con un dedo y que no podría, nunca, ayudarlo como él me ayudo. Nunca podría dar tanto. Y no es por que yo no quiera. Es por que esa vez, cuando dejó de comer 1 semana y me echaron la culpa me di cuenta que diga lo que diga, haga lo que haga, siempre habrá una parte del él que nunca podría encontrar. Una parte de él que no deja ver, la misma que no lo deja llorar frente a mí, incluso ahora. Ahora que ya lo sé todo...

Y esta vez ya no fuí.
Era noviembre del 2018 y me dí cuenta que lo amo de la manera más sincera posible y que daría mi vida entera por que sea la persona más feliz del mundo. Por que incluso si yo nunca podré serlo, me gustaría que goze de la felicidad completa, exquisita y verdadera. Que sea libre como las plantas que cultiva y las historias de las que tanto habla, y muy pocos escuchan. Me gustaría que se de cuenta de que no todos sus amigos lo son en realidad y que el dolor es real y nunca va a poder escapar. Que lo sienta, y no lo reprenda. Que entienda que está bien sangrar, está bien llorar, esta bien sentir frente a las personas. Que encerrarse y encadenarse a otros está mal y yo lo aprendí de la peor manera. Me gustaría que sepa que yo sé, yo entiendo, yo comprendo. Y me gustaría que sepa que sí, que siempre y que nunca. Que aveces y que algunas veces.
Pero siempre, siempre.
Nicole Dec 2018
I am not desirable. I have big thighs, a big ***, a round stomach, cellulite, strecht marks, self harm scars, a couple bruises from pinching and a couple tattoos. My eyes are surrounded by dark circles I try and fail to cover and my mouth is filled with insults and bad jokes. My grades are not as good as they could be and my mom is probably ashamed she knows I give away my body to whoever just look at my direction. Because I need reassurance. I need approval from everyone else. And that ******* *****.
And when he said you wanted to **** my friend first, but couldn't because she met someone else. You went to me. And I took you. And I showed you. And you kissed me. And I liked you. And now I'm broken, but I'd still have you.
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