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I hate to admit
That dissociation
Is a friend of mine.

Putting myself on autopilot,
Just so I can survive.

Separating from reality,
Because simply living
Is all I’ve got this time.

I wish you could
See me in the state
That I’m in now

Broken, bruised,
So critical.

It’s absolutely pitiful.

I’m tired of feeling low,
But I keep dragging myself

Sinking and
Caught in the undertow.

Someone wake
Me from this
Mental charade

Because I’m tired
Of all the games,
And the iron bars that
Keep holding me down.

It’s hard to thrive,
When I can’t figure
Out how to figure
Myself out.

Happy anniversary,
Trauma, guilt and

The past is very
Critical and I
Just want out.

I keep waiting
For an answer, but

I know I’m the only
One who lets myself
Down one more time.

I hate to admit
That dissociation
Is a friend of mine.

And I’m sorry,
If I disconnect

Please don’t give
Up on me now

I just need someone
To make me feel alive
One last time.
stillhuman Jul 15
Nothing feels solid
and I can't see anymore.
Just faces faded
in old pictures on the wall.

There's just nothing
at all.

Nothing feels solid
or at least,
I can't feel it anymore.

There's scratch marks on my body
and they will surely go away
or at least
that's what I've been told.

I don't feel at home in myself anymore.
There's not enough space for change
nor to grow.

I feel it's all so slippery
and I can't figure out a way to keep hold
of all those things
that would make my heart bold,
thumping loud in my chest,
not so scared of getting old.

I'll remember you forever
and forget you all the same,
same way you'll do with me,
I guess time will be to blame.

Promise me you'll be getting older,
'cause we're young now
but the chiming will be getting stronger.

I love you now that I don't know you,
so love me then
when you don't see me anymore.
did it always feel so cold?
Malia Jul 14
D̳o you
E̳ver just
D̳issociate so
Y̳ou see
yesterday was hard
My sister has curly hair
From day one
She has cut and burned it at every chance

Her hair is dark and thick
Like our fathers
I wish I had his hair instead

I wish the follicles on my head
Wernt thin and brittle
And quick to fall

Would that make me a man?

My sister has a flat chest,
My ******* have been called the best
My family and friends alike

She calls her own chest, childlike
If we traded, and my breath was unstressed
If they fell from my body

Would that make me a man?

What an unjust God
Who would give us bodies
That did not fit our souls

What cruel diety
Would leave us feeling
So cramped
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