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aphrodite Mar 2014
Everything is changing,
but your haircut still looks the same.
Going through my draft's and found this...
I hate that it still has relevance.
**
aphrodite Mar 2014
Stop blaming the world and changing your mind like the weather;
you should know by now that people aren't meant to stay together forever.
When you finally let go of the past,  I hope you feel light as a feather.
And when you stop biting your tongue - you'll learn to never say never.
Just a thought that I thought I could share.
I hope you're all having a good night.
**
aphrodite Mar 2014
I've never really loved the look of "perfect" on a person.

But I've loved crooked teeth
and chapped lips
and the rips in his sweater
and calloused palms
and acne scars along his jawbone
and eyes that are slightly slanted upward
and pant legs that are too short
and watches worn with the time set two minutes early
and hair that always looks the same
and loud voices in libraries
and quiet whispers at crowded parties
and twisted ****** expressions
and dilated pupils
and the way too much of his gum shows when he smiles
and beauty marks in secret places
and the same white t-shirt worn over and over again
and eye colours that are indistinguishable
and cold, blank stares at 3 am
and hopeful stares at the break of dawn
and messy writing that's hard to read
and untied shoe laces
and lisps
and stutters
and jeans worn too low
and fists that make holes in walls
and breath that reeks of coffee
and lips that taste of tobacco
and eyelids that are heavy after a long day
and fading bruises
and bushy eyebrows
and clumsy feet
and hunched postures
and hands that are always too cold
and bandages stuck onto odd places
and cologne that's a little too strong...

 because I think that showing what is imperfect is what makes a person worth loving.
Accidentally deleted this one, but I changed the title and I'm reposting it.
Again, I hope you enjoy it & comments are always welcome!
**
aphrodite Mar 2014
You drink about it.
       You smoke about it.
              You **** about it.
                      You cut about it.
                           You sleep about it.
                                 You stopped sleeping about it
                                       You stopped eating about it.
                                            You keep eating about it.
                                                You swallow pills about it.
                                                      You punch walls about it.
                                                           You kick cans about it.
                                                             ­   You spit about it.
                                                             ­        You write about it.
                                                             ­          You cry about it.

                                                            ­            But you won't talk about it.

                                                            ­ You won't pray about it.
                                                      You won't seek help about it.
                                                 You won't reach out about it.
                                            You won't tell your father about it.
                                      You won't tell your lover about it.
                                  You won't meditate about it.
                           You won't medicate about it.
                    You won't preach about it.
             You won't advocate about it.

       You're killing yourself over it,
but perhaps it's time you start saving yourself from it.
What is your "it"?
I've bolded what I find to be healthier alternatives for coping, opposed to the common and harmful ways of coping that are italicized.
This poem is very personal & I hope you learn to cope the best way you can.
**
aphrodite Mar 2014
I know that it is freezing, but I think we have to walk.
I keep waving at the taxi's, they keep turning their lights off.
But Julie knows a party at some actor's west side loft...
Supplies are endless in the evening,
by the morning, they'll be gone.

When everything is lonely, I can be my own best friend.
I grab a coffee and the paper, have my own conversations
with the sidewalk and the pigeons and my window reflection.
The mask I polished in the evening,
by the morning, looks like ****.

And I know you have a heavy heart,
I can feel it when we kiss.
So many men stronger than me have thrown their back's out trying to lift it.
But me, I'm not a gamble.
You can count on me to split...
The love I sell you in the evening,
by the morning, won't exist.

You're looking skinny like a model with your eyes all painted black.
You just keep going to the bathroom,
only say you'll be right back.
Well, it takes one to know one, kid...
I think you've got it bad.
But what is easy in the evening,
by the morning, is such a drag.

I've got a flask inside my pocket,
we can share it on the train.
And if you promise to stay conscious,
I will try to do the same.
Well, we might die from medication, but we sure killed all the pain.
But what was normal in the evening,
by the morning seems insane.

And I'm not sure what the trouble was that started all of this.
The reasons have all run away, but the feeling never did.
It's not something I would recommend, but it is one way to live.
'Cause what is simple in the moonlight,
by the morning, never is.

It was so simple in the moonlight, now it's so complicated.
It was so simple in the moonlight...
So simple in the moonlight....
This is one of my favourite's, if not my favourite song.
I find it poetic and I love the melody. Let me know how you like the lyrics and give it a listen if you haven't already!
**
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