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  Mar 11 isla
when the sky cries
she bears her sadness for the world to see
unwavering in the face of her emotions
for what shame is there in feeling?

if only I could be the same
isla Feb 28
i am thinking for myself
i think?
i’m not quite sure
you told me to just be myself
to construct my own thoughts and
demolish the ideas that years of
constant bashing
and taught irrational fear instilled in me
so today. i am thinking for myself
you told me to smile more
live a little! you said
i should forget what people think
not care about the constant murmur i seem to always hear

i am me
and that is enough.

but what do you think?
am i smiling enough?
happy enough?
forgetting enough?
thinking enough?
im thinking
im thinking
im thinking
my mind can only paint a lie so big
i can’t think anymore
im not me anymore
i don’t think i’ve ever been me
i don’t think i even know what that means
i don’t think its occurred to me that i’ve only ever been who people want me to be
i don’t

i can’t.

i am not thinking today
i’m not thinking at all
from last year
isla Feb 24
her mouth, tainted by the faded taste of cigarettes
spoke of the horrors that filled her mind
her hands, battered and bruised
shook as they returned
her lips trembled
he thought that only happened in stories
her eyes welled
he didn’t know what to do
she was pulled in an embrace
and he held her tight
her chest shook with every rattling breath she took
a desperate attempt to hold back the crawling smoke slipping through her cigarette tainted mouth and trembling lips
a cry wanting to escape
but her teeth were a prison and there were no bars
only stone on top of stone
preventing that smoke from fleeing
so moments go by
until the horrors passed her mind
her hands lay still
and her lips settled
eyes emptied
those rattling breaths turned deep
and he didn’t notice
because with her in his clutch
he could only think about the time when he thought
that people like her
only existed in stories
  Feb 19 isla
if i can't live without you, then there's nothing left to do but die
isla Feb 19
im afraid of recovery
because i’m afraid i’ll actually get better
i’m afraid i’ll actually want to eat
want to live
want to be happy
this hole that i’m in is as much of me as i am of it
it’s all i know
i’m tired being here but i don’t want to leave
im afraid of recovery
because im afraid of who i’ll be
and who i’ll see
when i look to this past
and wonder
why i was so afraid of recovery
part of a longer "poem". i feel as if i dont even write poetry, i just stack my thoughts in stanzas and call it a piece of creative work. i'm a sad excuse of a writer.
  Feb 19 isla
you are the
shade of black
that i have ever
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