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They always say that when you lose that person who gave your life color, everything just goes grey.
          There are distractions to give you a break from crying, but there
          are always dried tears sitting on your cheeks.
Those months spent opening up to the one person who knew you best, or, at least, you thought they knew you.
          It starts with shock, then shakes, then an overwhelming sadness
          to relief, but nobody ever says that relief quickly fades.
It's true when they say that sadness will fill every waking moment, but not that all you'll want to do is sleep that sadness away.
          It sounds stupid that food will lose its taste; it is, but nothing
          tastes the same anymore.
Now when anybody asks how you are, you say you're fine and getting better, but somehow saying that makes it hurt so much more.
I was a liability,
A wrecked one,
Even before you.
Carrying my hurt alone
Was oh so painful.
But the moment I met you,
You took away the weight
Like magic in your soul,
A baptism in your eyes.
You helped me heal the pain,
You gave me the love I never got.
You wrapped my wounds
And kissed my scars
But then you became one
When I realized I couldn't have you.
You filled the gap I've had all my life
Just an innocent friend
But I loved you more than that.
And the life you gave me
That you thought was healing me
Starting killing me.
I love you too much to ever let you know
That I crave your presence
But you're my vice
So I call you up
And let you think you helped
(It did)
(I needed you)
Even though it's followed by ***** and blades.
Now this childhood pain
That left me scarred and broken
Is ripped wide open
From every anticipation that came true.
It was never gone
Just hidden under the love I thought I could have.
Now this love
Is more painful than death itself
But I can't let you know
Every time I called you when I wanted to die
And you held me so tight
Desperately trying to heal the child inside of me
I left wanting death even more
Because all I ever needed was you.
But I can never have you.
Can I still call you?
I don't feel so well right now.
Have you ever felt like,
regretting yourself
after all the hard work
you've done,
sacrificing more than enough,
in return
wishing they could treat you special,
but
they all ended up treating you
just
not more than a
friend.
no,not even friend.
they call themselves friend
but they act like none.
at the end it's just
me,myself and i
my so called friends didn't betray me. they betrayed my hard work and sacrifice
srax 4d
looking at a mirror
shattered to bits
but the mirror is untouched

not a single scratch
am I the only one who can fix this mirror?
why is self-love so **** hard
ME!
L
I
E
R

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    A
    K
    E
          R
          U
          D
          E
    ­                B
                    R
                    O
   ­                 K
                    E
                    N
  ­                           E
                             M
                             O
                             T
                             I
                             O
                             N
                             L
                             E
                             S
                             S
                                        L
                     ­                   O
                                        S
  ­                                      E
                         ­               R
                                                ­      M
                                                       E



These are the words that define "ME".

             ~your smiling queen :)
This is ME.
Don’t bother me
Leave me be
At the end of the street
There’s empathy and emptiness in these
sheets
I wrap myself in
Everyday another
dark hole gets filled with nothingness
broken and bruised
I’m so used to this abuse
So find yourself another amuse
Jade 5d
volume i
A Portrait of My Sixth-Grade Self
___________________­

Eleven-year-old fingers
swollen with baby fat
dig into the gaudy shimmer
of turquoise eyeshadow
encased in its shattered compact.

I apply the pigment,
erratic smudges extending
from my lash line
to just below my untamed brows.

The blue powder accentuates the swirls
of my fingerprints in dizzy figure eights.

But you can't quit your own skin
like you can quit ice skating lessons.

I am in the sixth grade
when the Popular Girls
in my class tell me that,
if I want to get a boy to like me,
I have to change the way I look.

I abide by the rules of the
Unofficial Mean Girl Doctrine:

{no. 1}

I mustn't wear sweat pants,
these sloppy Old Navy rags
that I have owned for three years.

See,
denim is superior to cotton
even though it leaves
cavernous indentations
on my stomach.

Sweat pants forgive
the extra swell of your waist line.

Denim punishes you
for what you don't have,
more specifically
for what you have too much of.

I ask my mom for skinny jeans
because perhaps if I can
shrink all that I am
into this blue, unyielding fabric
I will feel thinner than I actually am.

We buy the skinny jeans from Old Navy.

{no. 2}

My signature high pony tail is
unacceptable.

I should wear my hair down,
they profess.

I am not sure if this is
because of the tufts of frizz
that loom over my scalp
like wasted dandelion seeds

(I wish... I wish... I wish...)

or if this is just a necessary ritual
in the abandonment of my girlhood.  

After I unsheathe my curls
from their rubber-band Bastille,
their trial commences.

My ringlets slither
in hostile circulations,
executing frequent detours away
from anyone who might scoff
at their animalistic bedlam.

If only I could will
my spectators to stone.

Cuz no one ever dared
**** with Medusa
and her curls.

Instead,
I settle for a flat iron.

{no. 3}

Do everything in your power to be
Beautiful
including, but not limited to,
the laws indicated above.

Yet,
despite my grandest efforts,
it is never enough.

I am never enough.

I am the Walmart Edition
of what the Popular Girls
want me to be.

With my gaudy eyeshadow and the
cheap Dollar Store bracelets
that I wear around my wrists,
plastic flowers blooming
upon threaded stems
that nip at the hair on my arms.

One day on the bus ride home,
a boy from my class tells me
I am too hairy.

"Huh?" I ask,
pretending I haven't heard him.

"Nothing," he mumbles back to me.

See,
little girls are supposed to play with
jump ropes and Barbie Dolls.

They are not supposed to
play with razors as they strip away
every misplaced hair on their body
or consult Teen Vogue
for the latest beauty hacks
like they are Gospel.

This year of 2011/2012
has been engraved  into
the historical road map
of my every insecurity.
The legend of this map,
depicted in smeared globules
of sugar cookie lipgloss,
deliver me to my destination:

self hatred.

Mascara stains the
topography of my flesh
in inky, dotted lines

I follow.

I plummet
like the eternal run
in my stockings.

One way plane ride
non-stop
never to return
from this perception of ugliness
and then--

flight


down.
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LK 5d
He made me forget how Heartbreaks felt like, until he reminded me himself.
I don't  want to be used
I want to be loved
I don't want to be your moon
When the Sun is not around!
I've let my heart be broken before

So why should this time be any different?

You swept me off my feet like all those others did
he was cute
she was too blind
the cute ones don't last


xoxo
-sunshine
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