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Alexis 2d
I remember being a young girl at the pool
Playing this game with myself
Where I would float on my back
Belly, face, and palms to the sun
I’d see how still I could be
And once I was as still as I felt was possible
I’d exhale and feel myself sink
Almost close enough to where my nose was underwater
Just before the moment where air meets water
I’d breathe in as deep as I could manage
And feel myself rise again
Back to the surface
Back to safety
Sometimes I still do that
Maybe you do too
Just in a different way
when the therapist asked
about my family history,
I gave her a history lesson.

I told her that growing up,
my house was a war zone.

I don't remember
what year it was, but eventually
the house collapsed into itself.
that trauma left me scared and hurt
with nowhere to go.

my mother moved out first.
she moved straight into
a life of addiction, and then
she found a new house
in the form of a jail cell.

my father also began
to call a jail cell his home.
he moved into the newspaper,
and then into the database of the
national *** offender registry.

now, we have separate houses
and conflicting beliefs.

we don't share anything
besides that story
and our DNA.

I couldn't tell her
about my family history,
because I don't
have parents anymore.

I have no family.
all I have is history.
ju 3d
We bathed on the carpet’s edge, in October light
made warm again by pimple-glass and wishful thinking.
We played games and we whispered- as if quiet
could conjure Safe from thin air, and noise conjure Evil.
We occupied the in-betweens; the hall, the stairs, the path.
Drew and drew and drew, with red-brick and chalk and dust.
We chewed the skin around our nails, until our fingers cried-
And when Dark came early, he found us fighting Monsters
in the Artex with our jagged little minds.
I was your typical angsty teenager,
lust and recklessness personified
into a human body.

I never called myself a poet,
but I spent my days
writing to boys who never loved me
and parents who were never there.

I went through a photography phase.
I cut images from magazines,
women with stick-figure shapes
and too much makeup and sad eyes
that everyone seemed to love staring at.
I took pictures of people
when they weren’t looking,
found beauty in others
when I needed to find beauty in myself.

I went through a rebellious phase.
I shaved the side of my head
and dyed my hair blue, and then black.
I tattooed my skin and
pierced crazy places on my body.
I smiled at adults walking by
because they fell silent,
and I knew that they were judging me
but didn’t have the
courage to say anything.
I liked thinking that
I was braver and louder
and more confident at seventeen,
than these people were at sixty-four.

I snuck out and went
for long walks in the dark,
because the nighttime air
felt peaceful and still.
and when the world was fast asleep,
I could let go of my attitude.
for a few hours, I could feel calm
because nobody was watching.

I was walking home one night
with Molly in my bloodstream
and adrenaline in my bones
but I got trapped in my mind
somewhere along the way,
stuck floating in between
self-worship and self-loathing.

I ran away a few times,
usually ending up at my friends’ houses.
I drank from blue Solo cups
not knowing what I was drinking
and not caring enough to know
as long as it got me drunk enough
to dance all night
and not remember a single thing
the next morning.

I watched my best friend
sneak away, not so stealthily,
to go have ***
with boys twice her age.
I think she snuck away loudly
on purpose so that
we would all know  
she was capable of
getting boys to
pound her senseless.
I don’t think she was capable of
getting boys to love her
for more than her body,
but I don’t think she ever tried.

I fell in love,
or at least I thought I did.
I had my heart broken
and healed and broken again.
at one point, there was a boy
who taught me how to kiss,
and that the backseats of cars
are rarely as spacious as they look.

through our conversations,
I learned that this boy believed
in extraterrestrial life,
and that he hated the color orange
for reasons he could not explain,
and that when he imagined the future,
he saw me in it.

through my own heartbreak,
I learned that sometimes
words mean nothing,
and that people can lie,
and that we were too young
to imagine any future at all.

I made memories
that still haunt me,
and promises that
I broke long ago.
I lived in the moment
and didn’t want to
think about growing up,
or what my plans would be
one year from then, or five, or ten.

I didn’t want to think
about anything farther away
than the weekend,
because nothing was guaranteed,
and nothing ever stayed the same.

change is constant
and, to me, that is both
beautiful and terrifying
at the same time.
even as a kid, I knew that
forever didn’t exist.
I pulled tulips from the earth
and brought them home with me,
but I wasn’t looking at the petals.
I was looking at the tiny hole
left behind in the soil
after the roots were ripped out.

it wasn’t about the
beautiful thing I had taken;
it was about taking something
from the planet that had
taken everything from me.

the tulips went into a vase and
I kept them, like any other kid.
but I wasn’t the kid
who marched in and proudly
showed them to their parents.
I didn’t show them to anyone.
I sat by the vase and
watched them rot.

they were my physical proof
that death is real,
evidence that my friend’s dog
did not run away to a butterfly farm,
and the old man down the road
did not mysteriously go to a better place.
they died, and they rotted.

I think about this often now.
I killed flowers not to admire them,
but to prove to myself that
even beautiful things can die.

I know how morbid that sounds,
but what you have to understand
is that my whole life had
revolved around death.

my childhood memories
were a sickening collection
of wilted flowers, of worms
burned into the concrete
after a storm, of rotting fruit
and swarms of flies.

my young mind showed me
the same images on repeat.
dead friends, dead relatives,
people who left me,
people who left this earth.

for my entire childhood,
I never got to stop seeing
lives that weren’t fully lived.

even as a kid, death didn’t faze me.
violence was nothing to me.
pain wasn’t fun, but it was tolerable.
even back then, I was numb.

I remember how being
so numb at such a young age
terrified my teachers and
scared my friends’ parents.

I didn’t know how
to explain that I was numb
because no matter what
horrors I was shown,
I had already seen worse.
When I was young,
I had a dog who followed me everywhere.
We often walked along the sand,
and the waves would drown out the outside world.
Sometimes, I would find a crab,
and toss it to the dog.
Canines crushed its carapace;
an afternoon snack.
Once, though, I caught a big one.
I pulled it from its den,
and held it by its claws above the maw of death.
But I stopped;
and, slowly, I ripped off one claw.
There was no-one around.
I could smell the salt in the air,
and felt the drip of dog saliva.
I pulled off the other claw,
and held this helpless thing in my hand.
The dog whined.
My fingers closed around it;
a child's hand shattered the shell,
and crushed the goop within.
This happened on the beach in Madagascar when I was 10 years old.
I grew up dreaming
That I'd have a happily every after

I grew up seeing
My parents walk away

I grew up dreaming
That I'd be whoever I wanted to be

I grew up trying
To fit within the page of an A4 paprt

I grew up dreaming
That I'd fall in love and it would be wonderful

I grew up crying
Over someone who didn't really care

I grew up dreaming
That I'd make a difference

I grew up being
A random nobody

I grew up dreaming


I grew up
Reality hurts
Spicy Digits Sep 27
"I already matter,
I already matter"
What she whispered to me
Low frequency,
Gently removing the zip ties of my youth,
Sang Rocket Man just under her breath
To no-one in particular.

"I already matter"
That slap-in-the-face truth
Words impossible to unpick from my teeth.
But right there,
She just breathed into being
A delectable bite-sized epiphany
For only my ears.

"I already matter"
A song of logic with such obviousness
The gods synchronized their eye-rolls
In response
Yet somehow we ****** up the lyrics
-they're passed down, that's why-
From wars, and hate and Ashmedai.

"I already matter,
I already matter"
She's here again...
And I think it's going to be a long long time
Till touchdown brings me 'round again to find...
huma Oct 12
Ever since I was a little child, I always wondered what it would feel like to be an ant. A little teeny-weeny tiny ant. Wandering around in this gigantic world. Following the sugary smell of life, yet all they find are scraps. Collecting all there is from it for their families, and no matter how small the food seemed to us humans, it would always be HUGE for them to carry.

Later on, I grew a bit older, and I started to think, how did the first ant that was ever killed feel like? to be stepped on by a huge giant foot, and without it even realizing that it had stepped on an ant.

How strange it is that such a critter can carry 50 times its own bodyweight, yet can be killed so abruptly.

Would it feel anything? Or would it simply just die? Would her family and friends even realize that it’s dead? Does it even have friends and family and little ants that cared about it?

I wasn’t really sure about the answer, but I always wondered about it.

And then it hit me, or should I say smashed me. That same giant foot I was talking about. No not only did it smash me, but it squished me, squished me hard enough, that I became nothing but a…? I guess I became nothing.

Since then, I knew exactly what the answer was. To be a little tiny creature smashed to the ground. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. Or did they?
mydesirelines Oct 12
let’s get ready dear,
it’s your first day at school
and you don’t want to be late? do you?

this was when, I lost my childhood
as I accidentally acquired sense of time.
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