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 Jul 2016 destructive
Love
I'm done repressing my gayness
Because it's the "Christian" thing to do.
I will wear ******* rainbow ****** pasties
And march in a pride parade
If I please
And then go to church and praise Jesus
And God and the Holy Spirit
For making the way I am
And how I am
Because he made me perfect.
I am gay
I am Christian
I am proud to be both.
This morning I bled for you
Then I realized I didn't have to
And I regret the scars on my arm
But I kind of deserve the harm
A short verse from a song I wrote cx
 Aug 2015 destructive
Aditi Kumar
I want my words to be beautiful.
Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things,
Find the magic in them,
And put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.

I want to have a way with words.
I want every poem of mine
To become a masterpiece.
Just like yours.

I am not broken.

But you are.

You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colors brighter.
It makes the value of feelings
Climb higher.

Sometimes I wonder
If I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate
Like yours.

Sometimes I wonder,
If it will be truly worth it
In the end.

I wonder what it will be like,
To cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.

Just like you.

I imagine that you
Raise the blade
Slice your feelings open
And write your masterpiece
In red.
Can only sad people write good poems? Can only broken people find inspiration in anything?
i always thought
you were thru traffic
that you were just jet lag
background noise
the kiss in the rain
i've never had
but what if you aren't?
what if this
was the thousandth time
i have loved you?
what if this is just a fresh coat of paint?
what if god
keeps a handkerchief
soaked in the day we met
next to his bed?
maybe theres a reason
i reach for no one in bed
the way i would
if someone used to be there
you know, they say
the road behind us
is littered with things
we couldn't hold onto
i wonder how many times
you've slipped through my hands
like hour glass sand
do you know
how much erosion you've caused?
i heard cupid
stopped keeping count
of how many times
we came together
just to come apart again
maybe it was just a rumor
it makes me think
about how many times
i've almost had you
like if all this talk
about history repeating itself
endlessly replaying is true
i wonder how many times
things have happened already
like the time
i tried talking you
into loving me back
back fired
or the time i could have sworn
jesus & lazarus were playing chess
with my heartbeat
but it was only you smiling
how many times
have i tried to tell you
how many times
have you read this poem
how many times
have i tried not to meet you
in my dreams anymore
it's like sleep tries to warn
me of what's happening
before it does but
i keep having this dream
where i tell you bedtime stories
and each one
is a different way you die
and in every one
i can never save you
it's like you're this song
i have on repeat
and every time it starts over
i forget the words
it's like you picked up the book entitled "us"
and the back cover
said you'd leave
so you never bothered reading it
tell me you aren't
going back in that bookstore
just to do it again
or will you tell me tomorrow?
or is this the time
you don't say anything at all?
if this has all happened before
if we call it quits
before we begin
again
from the beginning
i just want to ask you
to be my fire
because i am tired
of these old lives
and i'd like to see them
burn
 Aug 2014 destructive
Kelsey
Sometimes I tell myself that it's okay to feel this way,
that God gets tired too,
that sometimes He is the small child
slaving over a sewing machine
turning thread into warmth,
but not every sweater He makes
is made without a few loose strings,
or pockets sewn shut
or mismatched buttons.
My knees sink into the end of my bed
as I rest my elbows on my window sill.
I think as our hands face each other
and touch for the millionth time,
it's like a silent clap
that only the angels can here,
sometimes I apologize
to those resting in peace
for making their home sound more like
the ending of the movie
instead of the end of the book.
I greet God the same way
I greet your headstone.
I ask Him how He is,
why He only speaks in light,
and then I pretend to talk to Him,
when really I am talking to myself
or your headstone...again.
I say, "It's okay to feel this way.
I think it's okay to watch,
to write in depth about strangers,
I think it's okay to detach
yourself from the weight of existing.
Everyone around me built
themselves kingdoms,
they kept fire breathing dragons,
rolled out their drawbridges like red carpets
and I built myself a cardboard castle.
I built it on the highest hill
with a view of all of the kingdoms
and you know what?
I was alone,
but I had room to breathe
and sometimes that's all  you can ask for;
an empty room with a closed door
and open window.
I said grace at dinner earlier,
but I said it out of tradition,    
not out of genuine thankfulness.
So, thank you for the empty room
with the closed door and open window,
I know you're tired,
I hope you can respond when you get a chance."
You don't get to choose 
The country you're born in 

You don't get to choose 
The parents you're born to 

You don't get to choose
The name you're given 

You don't get to choose 
The *** you're born with 

But then you get to choose 
The people you surround yourself with

You get to choose 
Your first crush
Your first love
Your first kiss

Then I wonder
With the very little things 
We all get to decide on 

Why do we choose 
The people who just waste all our firsts 

Why do we choose 
The people who hurt us?
It feels like I haven't posted/written a poem in so long. I hope you guys like this one even a little bit. I hope it's not such a let down. Please like and then comment what you guys think. Thanks.
 Jun 2014 destructive
HiJinx
...
 Jun 2014 destructive
HiJinx
...
I have periods where I do not speak to anyone / days when I cannot haul myself out of my own bed / nights when I curl up and feel like fading into the night as a ghost /I'm sorry I cannot be a better person to / and for you / because the truth of the matter is that I haven't felt / like a person at all in an incredibly long time / I enjoy the feeling of being hollow inside / like the world has carved my insides out / I do not remember what it is like not to have demons sitting on my shoulder or / voices in my head I'd rather hear than the voices of my own few friend/s
 Jun 2014 destructive
pookie
one text,
one sentence,
a couple of words strung together,
meant to ease the pain,

And Yet..

they don't,
they change the way i think,
take away the love i once had for you,
to understand i was nothing more,
than a.
Good Laugh
is just painful.

being a mistake was easy to deal with,
but just being a laugh in your words,
is worse.
what was one love, is now just a faint memory, a Laugh thats its, Danm i thought i was more than that for you.
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