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shatteredpoet Jan 15
i hate writing about
the things you did to me
because as i'm sitting here
bleeding out from
the wounds you plastered
on my skin
treating my body as if it was
your personal
practice canvas,
you are going about
your life as if you
didn't permanently
make my mind so
******* fragile

so i refuse to
bleed your name
through each and every
one of these pages
i refuse to let you
think after all these
years you still have
power over me
Ava 19h
You knew what you
were doing to me.
You knew that
it would hurt.
You knew my
and used those
against me.

I'm not sure what
I did to you.
I'm not sure why
you turned dark.

Maybe the darkness
was always there.
Maybe my suffering
turned you on.

Maybe I knew that
you never loved me.
Maybe I knew that
you never cared.
Maybe I let you do these
things because I
loved you too deeply.

How do you live
without me?
How am I supposed
to move on?
How am I supposed to
believe when someone
else says the things that
you said when I live
in fear of repetition?

******* for
picking me.
******* for causing
me pain.
Atlas 1d
"Take good care of her"
He told my mother
She stroked her scarf made of fur
Her smile fake and calm

Too bad that as soon as he was gone
She'd shove me away
Gone was that smile she'd donned
Forget about me till the next day

"Spoiled brat" she yell
"It's your fault your father left!"
The scent of alcohol was how her clothes smelled
Her slap strong and deft

I waited until it was over
And limped up to my room
My walls the calming color of clover
Nursed my wounds as the blood bloomed

My father knew of course
He was too afraid
I cried, my voice hoarse
My will has begun to fade
We create lines
That seem to be tempting him

Whoever he may be

To cross
or leave you be

You plea with yourself,

Begging that you’ll find the words
To make him see
That he’s one foot over
And a shoulder deep

But it’s not a matter
Of the words you choose
With perfect precision
Wanting to be heard with clear cognition

Because he sees boundaries
As obstacles
He is taught, and even worse,
He believes
He only need work his way through

And if he does
He almost always does

The self you used to see
Now feels obsolete
I sat on the edge of the lake
on the biggest rock by the shore.
Midnight was the clock,
starry the sky,
frozen was the earth.
I looked up from below and saw Orion's Belt.
The stars on his hilt,
to the twinkling lights of his bow.
I could see them.
I could see all of them.
In that moment, I remembered something.
A poem he said he'd written
for me.
He'd called it Orion's Belt.
I remember what it was like
to be his,
but I remember so much else now.
He's a liar.
How much of what he told her
was true?
All of it?
none of it.

All these years and you still don't trust me. You're so quick to believe him. That was always his trick; his false sincerity. He should own up to it.
"You ****!"
"Go **** yourself!"

I hear the taunts.
I hear the laughter.
I hear the snickering.

They shove me.
They slap me.
They spit on me.
They chase me everywhere.

I am a ticking time bomb.

And someday
before too long
When they least expect it...
I will go off.

It may be brutal,
It may be ******,
It may be vicious.

But it's the only way
I can save myself.

There are no other options.
Ava 3d
Beautiful, you said as you kissed my hand when we first met.
Perfect, you whispered as you took every last bit of my innocence.

Overjoyed, I was to have found my soulmate.

Mine, you called with anger as you groped me in public.
Sensitive, you shouted when I expressed my feelings.

Confused, I was when the sweet turned to sour.

Dumb, you declared disgustedly when I told you my dreams.
Fat, you mentioned as I undressed myself in front of you.

Rejected, I was by the person I loved the most.

My fault, it was when you grabbed my hand with force.
My fault, it was when you painted bruises on every last bit of me.

My fault, it was for letting you do this to me.
mars 3d
With our heads over the starboard of the boat trip we took taunting tropical storm Fay on the port and our dresses in the wind.
He watched from the captain's chair, pistol in his hand. Salty seas hinder our vision of the man in the watchtower turning him into a blur on the vast expanse of grey skies and rotting wet wood.  

Angry crew-children with their bodies touched, banging on the stained glass door to his room where the little girl looks through the marbled blue with tears on her cheeks. Laughing at the confrontation, sent back to work.

Gathering lobster and lost time, both of them scream in the boiling ***. Escaped breath from incestuious embraces return to lungs and we find out that we can scream too, the boiling *** is overturned dripping off the starboard where we stand.

Lightning bolt touches the flag above his head causing chemical reactions to develop into a spark. Flames at the back engulf the wheel the children blister their hands grasping onto the lines as Fay rolls through, lightning after thunder rain never ending. Chaos perspiring on the ship he calls the battalion to secuestrar the children.

The battalion is overturned at the punch, bruise left on grey skin. Captain blubbering with lies the fire heat on his back. Rotting wood is burning, we cover our noses with bandanas and letters marked for Groton. The tide rises waves overtake the port, splashing onto the starboard where the victims jump into the black water uncertainty chilling them.

Swimming to Key West with the dolphins on our back the fiery ship burns in the distance the captain tied to a chair of ******* and lines untouched, denying allegations until his heart is charcoal and all that's left is a charred body smelling of ****** and aftershave. The starboard side is empty causing imbalance to the ship.

Dripping tears and sea water, walking through the streets, we lower our bandanas and hold the letters close to our hearts. Searching for the sun that will lead us home.
They drop like flies I tell ya-
can't contain the pressure,
eruptions fused by anger;
but rather than seek an explanation,
the assumptions over take them-
everybody suffers now. . .
what an awkward situation ?

to partake in such petty things . .
is to deny the soul and its awakenings . .
a waste of time and energy I tell ya-
and there's nothing worse
than feelings hurt, ignorance, and
being a ****

so have patience, be kind,
remain strong, and put the past behind,
always move forward, and seek truth
for there are many possibilities within our youth
to learn from, and be living proof
that this too shall pass

There's so much more to life than broken hearts
and senseless strife...
February 11, 2013
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