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  Mar 2020 Sierra Primus
Keerthi Kishor
When I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
Years later, she asked me to leave because
I was the reminder of the gruesome past that haunted her.

When I was ten,
my father told me he believed in me.
Years later, he refused to accompany me because
I was an embarrassment to him in front of the society.

When I was fifteen,
my friends told me I was funny.
Years later, they all laughed at me because
I was the gullible teenager who fell for their flawless façade.

When I was twenty,
this guy said I was beautiful.
Years later, he trashed me, tormented me because
I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.

So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn’t want to wind up years later,
learning it the hard way that people often don’t mean what they say.
"Pistanthrophobia is just not everyone's cup of tea."
  Mar 2020 Sierra Primus
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
Sierra Primus Jun 2017
Last night we screamed.
You broke things,
I ran.

This morning we hugged.
You apologized and I could tell that you meant it this time
because you cried and you begged me to stay
and you cried.

That's how it works, right?
People cry when they mean things?
Or has every day just been practice
and last night only the dress rehearsal
leading up to your main act right here
kneeling in front of me
on a tile floor glued together by lies
and a carpet woven by false love.

And I know that I should pay more attention
to the man behind the curtain
but right now, in this moment, I forget.
I forget the thunderstorm in your voice
I forget the earthquake in your fist
and the volcano in your eyes.

I forget the fear that made me sleep in my car
I forget the sadness that made me want to end my life
I forget the manipulation that made me think it was all my fault.
Because in this moment, none of it matters.

Because people cry when they mean things.

Sierra Primus May 2017
Sometimes I want to curl up and cry.
This is one of those times.

I don't always know why
Maybe there isn't a "why".
Maybe my body just needs to feel an emotion.
Any emotion.
Maybe the sadness is just residual.
From past disappointments
Past grievances
Past conversations
Or just the past in general.

Sometimes I need to reset.
This is one of those times.
Sierra Primus Feb 2017
"Wicked" is a witch that you hear stories about on Halloween.
It is the step-mother that keeps you locked in a dungeon
Or the half-sibling that nominates you to be the royal scapegoat when they **** up.

"Wicked" is not you.
It is not the sincerity in your voice when you say "I love you"
Or the warmth of your hand when you trace the battle scars on my skin
Or the soothing calm that tells me "everything is going to be just fine".

"Wicked" is the other half that leaves imprints in the walls when it doesn't get it's way.
It is the sharpened tongue that has me cowering in the corner,
Waiting for the cyclone of words to pass.
It is the crack in the otherwise perfect glass that is your soul, the proof that no one is truly perfect.

"Wicked" is not you.
At least, not in public.
Not where there are eyes other than my own.

So tell me, then...
What is "wicked" to you?
Sierra Primus Feb 2017
I didn't expect it.
I didn't notice the change.
Not in your smile; in your eyes.

I was naive and in denial
Observing your actions and behaviors
Hiding behind the cloak of your disguise

And at once believed
That your spirit could control the ocean,
Your heart conspiring with the moon.

At a far away glance it was hidden,
A little white lie, a grain of rice
That blended in with the rest.

But once that was blown away in the wind
That little grain turned into an undeniable grease stain
As black as the ink in your pen.

The same one that scribbled hieroglyphics on my heart
Undecipherable to all but you.

I should've expected it.
I should've seen the change.
Your smiles becoming fake,
Your eyes menacing.

The Devil stole your soul,
Or, bought it, rather
And you say that this is love
Written in blood that you lather.

But this is not love
And the lies will always matter.
Sierra Primus Feb 2017
Dear Best Friend,
I love that I can tell you everything,
no matter how weird or intimate.
I love that I can trust you to support me,
no matter how crazy the idea
I love that I can call you whenever,
whether it's 3pm or 3am,
and know that you'll be there for me.

Dear Best Friend,
I love you.

Dear Best Friend,
We haven't talked in a while.
We speak, but not as much, not really.
Not about important things
Not about real things.
We don't spend time together as often.
When we do, few and far between,
Your mind is always somewhere else
We might as well not be together at all.

Dear Best Friend,
I feel like I can't talk to you anymore.
I feel like you're never around,
Even though we live 15 minutes apart.
What happened to all the late night talks?
All the promises we made, and
All the adventures we had...
Can they really be gone?
Why don't you make time anymore?
Why don't you try?

Dear Best Friend,
I'm tired.
I'm tired of making the first move
Like our friendship is a game of chess that you've forgotten about.
I'm tired of being the only one that wants things to get better.
I'm tired of feeling like i'm the only one that cares.
I'm tired of not being listened to.
I'm tired of feeling like it's all my fault.
I'm tired of trying to help and not being taken seriously.
But that's just it, isn't it?
I'm just tired of trying.
I'm tired.

Dear "Best Friend",
I'm done.
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