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a small group of individuals
bound by the intersectionality
of their detriments
meet;

and although alone we stand
in head and heart and hand
together the mind and the heart gave birth
to something each of us forgot we were worth:

when we are together, a real person is born
not through the perceptivity of gore and of ****-
but of virtue and strength being visible not
to anyone other than us 3 who forgot.
for Irving and Morgan
Oh if I could **** money
I would
If my **** tasted like honey
In all likelihood
There would be people paying to taste it
That's how I'd make it
South City Lady Sep 2020
If we can restore vibrancy to color
stripping layers of time
to render art new
then can we lift sound particles
from memories
laid down decades before
dab a pen over words
slandering our hearts
eliminate critical noises
that chastise
til all we recognize
is a blank slate of static
where WE select
rhythm and pace     
            
compliments      feeding our lives' diorama  

                 beliefs              entangled    
                                    between      
                                              heartbeats

we become the artist
         the symphony playing remastered tunes

Stay Strong    
                                  You are Valuable
And, most importantly,

           You Deserve to be Loved
If we can challenge old thoughts that debilitate our efforts and rewind time's old cassette tape to the very beginning, what dreams might we record, what promises to ourselves might we keep?  BE KIND TO YOUR MIND
lk ode Aug 2020
Poor little thing
spewing words like poison
gurgling, bubbling poison
a putrid mess from ****** lips.
Unknowing,
still you have much to learn
Kelsey Banerjee Jul 2020
she handles memories like a crime scene,
each shared photograph shows
a clue -
oil stains on armchairs, misplaced magazines
she’d mistake a sob of despair
for laughter,
love for pity.
every remembrance she mars with red ink,
as if to tell her side of a story
that never existed.
Grace Mar 2020
Why
Why is it
That when I see
any
other
girl
I think, “oh! She’s so pretty!”

Why is it
I describe
Other people’s eyes
As
oceans
forests
streams
But mine are just ***** dishwater?

Why is it
I must change my hair
Damage it
Color it
In order for it to make me happy?

Why is it
That I am
my own
worst
critic?
I believe everyone is beautiful, why can’t I believe it about myself?
rgz Jan 2020
I use my prescription note
as a bookmark
a milligram per page
a page for every breath

the breath of wolves
of swollen air
and dreams too real

it's not as if
I really know the difference

I think I like it like that
LC Dec 2019
the inner voice whispers,
"tell them you're struggling."
my vocal cords are warmed up,
ready to give life to the words.
but the hand over my mouth
is an impermeable barrier
set by the critical voice
that is fueled by fear.
Kylee Dec 2019
I never noticed my

gut jiggle
thighs touch

knobby elbows sticking out

flat chest
wide nose

dry skin and crooked toes

Until society told me

no,

no,

No.

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