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ash 7h
i dont want to do it anymore i cant to it anymore
i keep waking up with the same empty feeling every **** morning
and it doesnt matter what the weather forecast says because its always cloudy in my head
and laughing doesnt feel the same as it used to
and when i told you i was sad you said it was because i wasnt even trying to be happy
but no matter how wide i smile and how many friends i meet up with i still cant feel the happiness anymore
and im beginning to think that maybe happiness isnt for everyone
maybe some people were just made to always be in pain
i'm not okay, i guess
Alex Oct 4
I turn a page and my hoodie sleeve hitches up.

She sees the red that circles my wrist as tattooed bracelets
And suddenly her nails are cutting too
Deep into my shoulder
And suddenly her voice is a wounded gunshot in my ears
And suddenly there are tear tracks on her cheek that sizzle on my skin between the lines of my story and suddenly
I wonder whether she cries poison or is it acid? And
Suddenly I am trapped in this room because every square inch is Her and suddenly
I’m not here because someone else is pressed against the radiator with this Monster Of A Woman crying toxic waste and breathing sparks
Gripping their shoulders too tight too-tight-don’t t o u c h them you’re leaving Bruises and suddenly
I don’t know which of these people below me are the villain because
The one with flames instead of words is
Four gaping feet away
And the one with purple-black splashed
Where feathers would sprout has gone,
glass-eyed glacial
Unresponsive to the way salt droplets are supposed to erode ice
Not make it thicker somaybe they’re the monster
Of the same cracking clay

‘a lonely couple makes a child out of clay, with disastrous or comical consequences’

A terracotta boy is a joke of tragic origins and suddenly
My art teacher is preaching to me that if you over-heat Clay, it will explode and
Their back is still pressed to that
Roasting radiator
And the air is still heated with residual flame from the Dragon’s blaze of words and this atmosphere is
B u r n i n g
And pottery only survives so much
Crimson before it
And suddenly And suddenly

She’s yelling, why didn’t I think of her before doing this to myself?
My back is blistering as I bite my tongue
“Mother, I thought of you every time that blade touched my skin to create wounds you once kissed away”
carmen Sep 27
sunbeams fall across my face
as I recall such regretted haste
of statically-charged, crystal ****, lightning shimmer
ice cold switchblade gleams in blue television glitter
raising hell in my white nightgown, I drive fast
drinking ***, I'm not afraid to crash
Elvis in the mirror, Marilyn in the bed
fire shall consume me? well, devour me it has
for my soul is set ablaze when I dream of what I had
your pulse sends me lightyears away as I think
of all the times you brought me to my knees
prison calls from mid-July still ring out in my ears
the longer that you stay away, the more you feed my fears
cigarettes burning, neon palm trees, bikini ******
Jesus pleads with me to no avail, "don't go further,"
but I am God now and I crave your touch, daddy
though you're gone forever, sadly
******'s gone and snatched you away
forevermore my skies will be grey

stop haunting my dreams
please let me be
your spirit still holds me hostage
and while you remain to be
the only one on Earth for me
what I can't have will **** me
i keep dreaming of u and each dream is more vivid than the last
please come back, daddy, ur tha only one for me
At 17 I will be free
I'll read the letter I sent to me
I'll see the change so clearly
And know my own complexities

At 16 I am afraid
And grades are the worst I've ever made
My mind could use some first aid
There is no rest, no desert shade

At 15 I was close
wondered who would miss me the most
hated myself for thinking anyone would
hated myself for thinking

At 14 I was brilliant
And I was oh so resilliant
In my passions I was dilligent
And yet my mind was distant

I will be 17
And when I am what will I be?
Will I still be brilliant?
Will I yet be free?
Valentia Sep 19
another sleepless night
muddled heart,
muddled mind.

i'm losing myself and
it's all your fault

i don't care about
anything else just
in love with me already

i can't
I come from a place of empathy
where perceptions
is a mix of colors
of hers, his and their

I come from a place of empathy
where ears are made of patience,
drums sensitive to the change in wavelength,
de-weaving complexity
into simplicity.

I come from a place of empathy
where the emotions lacerating
hearts – sliced,
run parallel through me.

You lock into my embrace,
finding the comfort of compassion
amongst the rusty and scraping conditions.
When you project anger, fear, and angst
I start dissecting your past,
your rearing,
justifying and understanding
the origins of the
hand and experiences
that shaped you.

You render your mind open,
as I step in
walk among the stars, darkness
and the turbulent waves crashing within.

Your emotions tingle my skin,
and linger within me
as I understand wor(l)d apart,
developing cross-cultural understanding
and objectifying subjectivity.

Though I begin to understand
the origins, stem of your being,
swaying with your words
and hazing in the paradox of other’s being.
I choose to succumb to gravity,
and remain sturdy on certain beliefs.
This poem is on the challenges of empathy along with the benefits/importance of it.
ash Sep 16
You’re good at finding the things that will hurt you and french-kissing them behind the locked door of a school bathroom stall.

When you were 12 your mother found you with scraped knees and asked why the hell you run to things when you’re so intent on falling down.
It’s a good hurt if it bleeds and it’s the best hurt if it kills you.

If you don’t want good things, nobody can take them from you so you take them from yourself, the art of denying, of choosing bad choice bad choice bad choice until you’re dizzy with victory because yeah maybe you ruined your life but it was your life to ruin and nobody not nobody is going to control you like that again.

Who can hurt you when you’re already cutting the brake lines and setting fire to the engine.
Who can hurt you when you’re practically an artist at self-destruction.
Pain is clean.
Pain makes sense.
Pain is temporary.

Isn’t it all temporary.
feeling down again. but when am i not.
Silent One Sep 13
It's raining again, grey neon skies,
washing away suppressed surfaces,
to reveal unhealed wounds,
to scars the eyes cannot see

sometimes they bleed.

Some say words heal,
but I resist to express them,
because I'm afraid of my vulnerabilities,
anxious about tears I've never cried.

You only see the smile,
no one remembers that naive boy,
waiting at the window
for the shepherd who forgot his flock,
and he was no black sheep

if only I could reach him now

so he would not grow up like he did not belong,
stop searching for something,
he did not know how to find.
Stop composing that melancholic symphony,
recycling emotions, he did not understand,
I would tune his piano keys,
repair his violin's broken strings,


there are too many silent secrets,
blood stained walls will never reveal.

You left me behind,
with an empty toy box,
taking with you childhood hopes,
so ensued a vacuum of darkness -
******* me deeper into confusion.

I remember watching you walk away,
along a path of overgrown weeds.
If it was not for the gift of mum's marbles,
I would not have laid an alternative path,
creating my protective bubble,
so I could float away, from all the troubles

until I lost them too.

Tell me father,
how was I to become a man?
You pushed me upon my knees,
like a cherry blossom in the wind.

A victim of your sins,
struggling to rise in adolescence,
I kept faith in the path of marble,
grateful for the guidance of my bubble.

After years of silence

upon your final sighs,
watching you die without words,
tears exploded for a stranger,
forgiving broken promises,
forgetting your crimes -
cursing stubbornness and bitterness,
thinking maybe it was me,
not just you

questions that will never be answered.

Today I stand before your bed of marble,
no need for a bubble, I feel no emotions.
After all I am a product of my childhood,
and you were a result of your own.

Silent One
18 August 2019
it's just izz Sep 12
you know that feeling when
you stare too long at a word and
you no longer grasp the meaning so
you stop looking?

perhaps that’s why
you fell out of love with me

you stared too long and
decided to stop loving
Maya Duran Sep 10
You are in the living room at dusk
Haphazard towers of moving boxes rise around you
The furniture has been dismantled and
You divert your gaze to the underwhelming formation
Of cardboard and tape
As your mother screams and throws the cat across the room

In retrospect, it reminds you of an album cover
For some emo basement band
A collage of childhood in hues of brown
Or a glimpse of red flannel
Cardboard castles, a little boy
Holding a paper sword
Taken on a disposable camera in 2004
And reappropriated for it’s nostalgia in 2014

The boy you caught is not amongst your rescue party
You veil your disappointment poorly as you climb into the passenger seat
And it filters through the holes in the cloth like grey light
You blame the fatigue on your mother alone
Though it isn’t entirely her own
"Cavetown wrote a song about your ex and we played it all summer long" pt 2. I remember wet grass and pavement, chainlink fence and the high school running track that was a few blocks down, but I cannot for the life of me remember what the the front yard of that house looked like. All I can picture is a curb and the street I grew up on in the deeper East side.
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