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Sep 2018
i sit in this chair a million times.
i sit in this chair and i do the same thing every time.
i eat only to lose my appetite.
i smile only to wretch out all my happiness after.
i look at those who have hurt me.
yet i feel nothing.
i let out the choked sobs no one ever gets to hear.
and i will forget it all even happened.

i don't know. what happens. inside.

inside me is a place even i don't understand.
inside me are demons who eat every inch of my sanity.
my sanityβ€” or better, what's left of my sanity is carved to form a wooden mask.
my sanity only cripples from here, and there is inevitability that death comes.
death comes and then the demons crawl out my used skin.
death comes and then there is no coming back.
back to when all was quiet and i listened again and again.
back to the times where i could only see me.
but now everyone can see me.
but now everyone can see the real me.

i am not the Good Little Girl.

not anymore.
nor was i ever the Good Little Girl.
for it was the wooden mask, docile and glorified.
and now it is smoke and ashes.
and now so am i.
but

i am the Good Little Girl.

i will glue up all the ashes if i must.
if it means maintaining my imageβ€” if it means tearing my own soul apart,
i will become the Good Little Girl.

for it is the only way of living i know.
and the Good Little Girl is a habit i will never break out of.
this is for a challenge i did with my friend Zersrol. it's a bit more personal than my usual poems. enjoy :)
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       Jack L Martin, Salmabanu Hatim and Zersrol
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