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Sarah Dec 2018
what is it that sits below my eyes?

It is there,

but yet I can't see.

It is felt,

but yet I do not know.

what is it that sits above my smile?

It can't be heard,
It can't be smelt,

and yet I can't ignore it.
Sarah Jan 2017
I don't like initiating every single conversation
It's not that I don't have friends
It's just that they have friends
                                        other friends
                                         more important friends
It's not that I don't to people
It's just that they only talk to me because they see me
five times a week

It's not that I spend friday nights alone
curled up watching netflix
I still keep my phone by my side waiting for an invitation

Because it's not like I haven't tried
I'm just not the friend you invite to a party
                                                          to hangout
                                                          to eat
And it's not like that doesn't hurt
finding ways to mask the excuse of always being along
introvertism can only go so far.

It's not like I don't ask to be included
I'm just not a part of the core group
                                           the group chat
                                           the skype call

Look, I understand. I get it, I really do
You have other friends, priorities, drama,
and I just fade into the background

Maybe I'm too independent or laid back
Maybe I'm not engaging enough and don't text back

It's not that I'm lonely
It's not that I don't try
I've just learned not to have to charge my phone over night
I've just learned to expect a phone call from my parents
or a text from my sister

I'm not in a friend group, but I have friends
I'm not in the group message,
                  the skype call
                  the table in the mess hall
And I would be okay with that

If I didn't know

But you let slip, without warning,
the meme that someone posted in the group
something funny someone said during lunch
the craziness of friday night

But I know
And I care
Sarah Dec 2016
Curled toes
body heat

there is no snow
only cold air pushing in

closed eyes
big blankets

there are no lights on
only dawn breaking through

shallow breathe
eyes close back again

good morning
Sarah Feb 2014
I once had a dream
where I was told that I was blind,
but I could see just fine
Sarah Jan 2014
I um just happen to notice that you're a person. And I also happen to be a person.
By this, I see that we have something in common. **** sapiens, hmm, right?

What do you mean by no?
You aren't a person?
But, but...

those eyes.
That nose,
and those genetics.

You don't associate your self with humans?
I see.
Well I do,
I guess that means we can't be acquaintances then.
it was nice meeting you.
Good bye for now
Sarah Nov 2013
I wish I could make everything better,
But, I know just as much as you.

I wish I could heal your pain,
But, I cannot see what you have been through.

I, I understand how I am the better half.
Yet, you don't see the contempt.
I don't believe it so,

halves are suppose to be equal.

I wish you would talk to me,
but I growl back instead.

You hit my foot as a way of love,
and I tap your knee in return.

I wish I knew what to say,
I wish I knew what to do,
I wish
and I wish.

But, all it is is empty.
So, I'll just stand by you.
Sarah Nov 2013
is what I see,
it is what I hear.
But, what is voice?
All it is is air.
air vibrating to more air.
to things that run on the oxygen.
To the throat, to the neck, to the person.
Who was once star dust, and will one day return to the stars.
When I think of voice,
I think of my own.
The one in my head, not the one that you hear.
Because that is my voice, it it does not change through time,
harden with the wind and twisted in the cold.

It never gets tired, it is the only constant reminder
that I am my self.
Not anyone else.
I don't hear it in my ears. Or see it through my eyes.

I can't because
voice is only made up of air, vibrations of air, traveling through more air.
Now, I'm afraid. I slow down my speech pattern so that the rubble in my head can be heard over the screaming pain that echoes in the back of my neck,
wait no, I mean head, the front of my head. The back of my head...
my brain.

Why are you only electricity when I wished for air?
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