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You call me a friend, as you pull out a knife
You stab me in the back, not once but twice
Friends for life, but that’s a straight up lie
You aint gotta clue, about Ride or Die

I’m surrounded by wolves that are dressed like sheep
Telling straight lies, dry snitching on me
Claiming it wasn’t you, behind the line up glass
You straight pointed out me, to save your own ***

I’d rather sweat buckets, to search out peace
Than spilling gallons of blood, fighting demons in me
The battle continues, frighten the anger within
It’s a full time job, dealing with FAKE *** FRIENDS

Ever time I think I know, what you’ll do next
You end up selling me out, for a yard or less
You made you a dollar, so I’m screaming again
You’re a straight up punk, a FAKE *** FRIEND      

I can sit and formulate a plan in my head
Take a ****** shot; make your FAKE *** DEAD
Now I’m on the run, a fugitive at large
Aint a FAKE *** FRIEND around, worth taking a charge

Their a dime a dozen, you can find them anywhere
Just don’t be fooled, because its buyer beware
It’s a known street rule, don’t say it wasn’t said
Because FAKE *** FRIENDS, usually wined up dead

But ill take what *** gave me common sense, and walk away
It’s a soft *** move, but Ill write another day
Not locked up covered up, dealing with my sins
Nothing wrong with cutting off, a FAKE *** FRIEND

Aint a chick or dude around, can’t relate to what I’m saying
We all had friends, which were straight perpetrating
Saying they got our back, all the way to the end
Same ole same ole, just a FAKE *** FRIEND

So now I ride solo, I know it’s a risk
If push comes to shove, Ill add my girl to the list
Now I’m RICH and FAMOUS, and you wanna make amends
But as I told you before, **** FAKE *** FRIENDS!
Look how far we’ve come.
from an idea, a desire we came from
materialized from conception and now have take form.

Life is fascinating
No matter how much I want to die
existence always amazes me.

Life is treads exactly on the boundary of reality and illusion.
What so real can seem so unreal.
Like the mist in the cold morning.
It exists for us to see but slowly disappears with no trace.

The past seems so distant and the future oh so near.

Sometimes I catch myself asking the questions of whether or not
the things in the past happened or if it was just a figment of my imagination.
Memories that I have crafted for myself.

Makes you wonder
what wisdom trees hold
as they withstood the test of time.
living and dying through the seasons

Memories they have kept as time did not stop.
I wonder if the trees ever miss the people who always pass by them
Their voices, their faces.

How every day must be a nostalgia trip as they live the present and the past at the same time.

Death still boggles me.
How one thing that used to be alive is no longer around.

Only records of them stay.
Pictures, videos, voice recordings
and their words immortalized in things like letters and poems.

How dead beings still walk the living present by nothing but records

Maybe I’m just thinking too much.
Maybe all of this doesn’t make sense.

Maybe this pale form of a poem is just a way to convey a feeling
that we have not come up a name for.

A feeling stronger than Nostalgia
but weaker than being sentimental.

I don’t know.

I maybe be gone tomorrow.
Maybe in a few minutes.

I too will become something that is and will turn into what was.

Who knows.
I guess life really is a mystery.
i am washing my face
he still wont look at me
i am dancing to his music
he still wont look at me
i am timidly talking to him
he still wont look at me
i am watching him talk with you
he watches you so carefully
i wonder what he sees
when he holds your gaze considerably
dear boyfriend, i'm here too
I don’t want to use the word love. I don’t know what it means. It has been used so much so mystically that it had lost its meaning. Do I feel happy suddenly when I get your text? Sure. Do I get jealous when that macho guy hovers around you? Sure. Do I want to drop you home safely? Yes. Do I worry you might be too worried because of that project you’re working on? Yes. Do I want to talk to you at night but don’t because you might be too tired? Yes. But is it love? I can throw around poetic words about your beauty and how your smile feels like home to me, but is it love? I don’t know what you feel about me, because the truth is even I don’t know what I feel about you.
And you ask me,
Dear friend

Why I have painted
The world red

And I would have said:

Mind you I did not
Paint this world red

Someone just threw paint over my eyes once

And I haven't gotten it off yet
Hatred never stays one sided
And those who condemn others
For having it
Are the worst kind of hypocrite
Jo Swan 5d
Mum plays a game of hide and seek!
A dangerous game of survival
Where she can not show she is weak,
Even though there’s blood on saliva.
She carries me to a safe house
to flee from an abusive spouse.

In her arms, I sense her despair
For we live in uncertainty.
Must this be the burden we bare?
Always running in urgency
to avoid mum being a battered wife.
Must this be the game of our life
When we play hide and seek!

(c) Jo Swan
I left flinchy, and came back jumpy.
I was always a bit on edge and close to falling,
But now I straddle that ledge.
I see the concern in your eyes
Every time I shy away from your touch.
I see your confusion when I can’t explain why,
And I see the pain reflected in my cringe.
You took me gently,
Wincing as I flinched,
And softly asked me,
“What happened to you?”

Simple words,
Simple answer.
Nothing happened to me, love.
Except I know you won’t believe that.
But I swear, it’s the honest truth.
… Well, honest enough.

Nothing happened to me,
As in there was no big triggering event
That caused my hidden PTSD
To come roaring out of the depths of my broken mind.
Nobody hit me,
Nobody abused me.
I wasn’t *****,
I wasn’t manipulated.
Nothing happened to me,
Only around me.

I moved into a house with four others,
One of which was a spitting image of my dad.
Not physically, but mentally.
He treated his girlfriend in the same calloused way
My dad treated my mom.
He slammed doors, was a lazy slob,
Called his girlfriend names
And hid behind someone else to bail him out.
He wore his toxicity openly, brazenly, behind closed doors
But charmed all others while in public.
His girlfriend cried to me every week for months
About the same things mom cried for.
I was shouldering 70% of my (now old) relationship,
And between the two stressors,
My barricade began to fragment.

Nothing happened to me, love.
I know you don’t believe me.
I can see it in your worried eyes.
But I promise, it’s the truth.
… Well, almost the truth.

The cracks in my mind grew to chasms,
As the situation around me worsened.
My relationship was falling apart,
And he got worse with every day.
They would scream at one another.
She breaking down mid-fight,
While he stormed off.
I resisted the urge to hide in the closet, like I had years ago.
Or mostly resisted.
I hid once or twice,
Just for old time’s sake.
I don’t remember exactly when the nightmares started.
Chasms leaking memories I had suppressed.
I never slept much to begin with, but now, dreams invaded by trauma,
I went days without.
I took on an air of carefree nonchalance,
But inside I was melting, withering away
Under the acidity of freed memories.
I tried to cling to my relationship,
But that just caused it to crumble faster.
He couldn’t understand why I was suddenly getting worse,
And refused to believe his precious brother was at fault.
Hurt from his rebuttal, I continued to shrink
A process expedited by my loneliness.
I had nobody to turn to,
And so I began to drown in my own memories.

Nothing happened to me.
I swear, it’s true.
Don’t give me that disbelieving look.
I already told you,
Nobody did anything to me.

Days turned into weeks,
And eventually something had to give.
That something was me.
I fled, chased out by him.
My so-called boyfriend didn’t care,
Too caught up in his brother’s hero fantasy.
My paranoia spiked.
I didn’t feel safe anywhere, because I felt like he would find me.
Even after breaking up with his brother,
I feel like he’s right behind me.
So forgive me if I jump when you tap my shoulder.

So you see, love, nothing happened to me.
It was just the situation I was in.
But nothing touched me, nothing big went wrong.
I wish it had, though.
It’s easier to excuse one big blowout
Than it is a million tiny pinpricks.
I told you, nothing happened to me
And that’s the honest truth.
Nothing happened to me,
Only around me.
Someone asked me what happened to me, why I was so flinchy now. No reason.
Do you know how it feels to be scared of yourself?
- I do.
Do you cry yourself to sleep?
- I do.
When people ask you what you want to be when you're older, what do you say?
- I want to love myself.
How can someone so smart and funny be so depressed?
*I don't know. I may be the broken crayon.
dear brother,
today is just another day, like any other.
the sun warms the grass on our front lawn.
we're low on groceries, so our parents are gone.
today’s the first day that you'll put your hands ‘round my neck,
and tell me that i was what made you do it.
no one here, not around, not a single person to check,
only me to console you when you say that you rue it.
and when they return, no pain shall be found,
because you're a good boy when others abound.

dear brother, i know
that you let your hurt show
by shifting to me. no one else understands
the weight of your looks, the strength of your hands.
push me down stairs, throw me at walls,
try to decipher this confusing world
by drowning out help and starting our brawls.
i'll try not to listen to the fear that you've hurled
at me because i understand that this is a wave
lapping at the peace you so desperately crave.

dear brother, it seems that you are odd.
when others hurt others, we say they are flawed,
but you just can't help the things that you do.
i used to blame hate, but i know that's not true.
i'll never comprehend the life that you live
because i'm neurotypical. ease is all that i know.
but you are not me and have nothing to give
when society asks you to not let it show.
so fists and fury will give you your vice,
even though our joined suffering is its final price.

dear brother, we never were born to be strong,
but i've been for you through these fights all along,
because i can mend my mind when it needs healing,
but yours is too different to cope with the feeling
of lost, of love, of clothes that you wear,
and maybe it's true. maybe this is too much
for me to sacrifice but you know that my care
is all that i offer when you lose your touch
with reality. i stand to have much to lose,
but we've found out who's more likely to bruise.

dear brother, perhaps i never will be
able to say the right words and let you run free
from the memories i've grown and the nights i have lost,
because all i can think is how much it would cost
to give you some medicine, make everything gone.
you tell me you're broken and must lose this life.
i promise you this, i will wait for your dawn,
and the day will come that you no longer have strife.
because, in the end, who cares who started what
when all that matters is who's in the rut?

dear brother, i'm no saint and i'm certainly no safety.
i overthink things and am often too hasty
to judge and to jump to conclusions about you,
but at times like this, whenever i drew
those lines in the sand, trying to push you out,
were not because i don't love you or **** you for joy.
i did not understand what you were trying to shout:
that your fights and your frights were your version of troy.
you hid all the unsure under abuse and absence,
and now, forevermore, i'll break down your fence.
(our shared blue-steel eyes, our disheveled brown hair.
i will try, dearest brother, to finally be fair.)
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