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  Apr 2017 Rachna Beegun
Amethyst Fyre
You do not have to starve yourself to have people love you
You do not need to draw needles across your skin to get people to care
You deserve better than this

*Why do you never listen?
  Apr 2017 Rachna Beegun
Druzzayne Rika
The fire gives the warmth,
         as the storm rages on.
  Apr 2017 Rachna Beegun
PixieWee
Clothes on the floor, Her hands on my skin

She intwined her fingers with the knots in my back

As the deep heat seeped into my skin

There was a sudden burn comforted by soft lips

The more I felt her lips the more it burnt

Her kisses burnt when our lips were one

But I continued to kiss her because I knew I wasn't done.

~p.w
11/04/17
  Apr 2017 Rachna Beegun
Hannah
It took me years
to fall in love with myself.
It was a foreign idea
throughout my childhood.
I remember the jealousy I felt
for the girls with flawless skin,
and perfectly straight hair.
I thought they were beautiful,
and they were,
but not in the most natural way.
I wanted to be the girl
who was beautiful
after rolling out of bed at noon
without any makeup
besides the mascara
from the night before.
I wanted to be the girl
who was effortlessly beautiful
without giving it a second thought.
I always admired those girls.
I loved the security
that radiated off them,
like the shimmer of sunshine
on delicately tan skin.
It took me years
to become one of those girls.
It was a slow process.
It took the shedding
of a society built for
flawless makeup ridden
artificially created beauty.
It took acceptance
for who I am without the mask.
It took forgiveness
for the flaws I was blessed with at birth.
It took years,
but I'm finally there.
I'm one of those
naturally beautiful girls.
I'm one of those girls
that could careless about shaving,
or washing their hair.
I'm a girl without cares.
I'm a girl in love with herself.
  Apr 2017 Rachna Beegun
w
65
i'm sacrificing so much for an image of myself i don't even think i believe in anymore
Rachna Beegun Apr 2017
I’m too sentimental. I can’t wander back through the memory lanes without feeling like it’s bleeding out of me. All the tender memories slowly drains out my color at night, only for sleep to bring a transfusion. All these small things shouldn’t matter so **** much but still it does. I think, that's the cruel fact of being sentimental much.
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