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Chameleon Jan 2020
This used to be a safe place to go to talk about your feelings while practicing writing. Now it’s just another form of Twitter where everyone thinks it’s okay to be hateful and nasty in the comments and have no respect for the person that is going to read them.

Like the account - charlie’s favorite
They made fun of my name, called me blind and stupid and then blocked me for asking them to not be nasty in the comments of someone’s poem. Don’t support that person
Chameleon Jan 2020
There’s a part of me that wants to close up shop when he leaves.
Hang an “Out of order” sign outside my window
and climb into the mountains to live alone like the grinch.
But I’m an eternal optimist and I like that
first date feeling.
Everything is exciting and feels brand new.
Checking to make sure there’s nothing on your face when he goes inside a gas station,
and eagerly waiting for the first kiss.
Those dumb butterflies that flutter when he texts you or reaches for your hand in the car.
I won’t shut myself off from all those things,
but I might go on vaca until I’m perfectly tanned,  and I’ve had my fill of pineapple before I get back out there again.
Chameleon Jan 2020
I want you to know I have wanted to write a book since
I was 5 years old. Since I would send short stories to
Children’s magazines I would find on the back cover
of a scholastics, just hoping they might pick me.
They never did, but I kept trying until I grew old
enough to become self conscious about what I have to say.
Is it important? I still wonder that now, and often I find the
answer is no, it is not. To anyone but me anyway.
But I’m a bit of a narcissist. I know this because I have been
in the darkest depths of depression. Like at the bottom of
the ocean, hiding under a rock like a scared crab. Paralyzed with
fear, ready to stay there forever. But yet, I don’t want to die
because without me the world wouldn’t exist, and for
some reason naive hope dwells within me still.
So maybe what I have to say is important. To me.
And to you too. Guess we’ll never know until I write
that book.
Chameleon Jan 2020
I don’t know much.
Maybe nothing at all.
But I know I love him.
He is this warm, October light
that makes me feel good
and without him things just don’t
seem to go right.
I don’t know what’s going to happen
to me in a week, let alone a year;
but I hope he’s there
because that means things will be okay.
Chameleon Jan 2020
It’s hard to be a human.
To make the right choice,
or do the right thing.
It’s even harder when you love someone.
It’s hard to be happy with simplicity.
At least for me.
It’s hard when your dreams feel
so big and impossible.
Like that bright star you see when you’re driving at night. The one that stands out from the others.
It’s too far away, so you can’t grab it.
Instead you think about how beautiful it would be if it could be yours.
Some day that star will burn out,
turn into dust or maybe nothing at all
just like me.. but I still want it.
Chameleon Dec 2019
I couldn’t eat for
2 months.
My appetite just disappeared.
I lost weight really fast.
My belt became too big.
Usually food is my comfort,
I have spent many many nights
getting to the bottom of a bag
or having just one more slice.
So when the idea of food became
nauseating and my stomach just stopped
growling, it was weird.
I have never experienced heart break
like that.
It really is as bad as all the sappy poems say.
When you’re broken, even your favorite food
can’t comfort you.
Chameleon Dec 2019
I feel like I’ve been having
an identity crisis lately.
I’m living in past memories,
and blocking out the bad parts.
I’ve been ignoring the passage of time
because it’s going so fast
and frankly, I’m terrified for the future.
I miss my apartment,
and my boyfriend, my old job
and my friends.
My phone doesn’t even recognize me
anymore because I don’t look the same.
My hair is thin and torn out,
I have huge dark circles under my eyes
and my body looks fatter.

Why does everything have to fall apart?
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