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Six years ago, the normal, brainy girl named Grace died. At least, that's when her body was found. It's likely she'd been dead a couple years longer than that. She was survived by bubbly friends and a doting family, who all were wracked by the loss.

Why is this eulogy so late, though, if she was so beloved? Because no one noticed she was dead, really dead, until today. Not even Grace.

When she noticed her brain wasn't quite right, she knew things would never be the same. That's how having a bad brain worked. She'd always be taking medicine, she'd always be watching every little move she made. It was a constant production, keeping all the parts together. Grace was strong and brave and quick to jump onto that.

However, somehow it slipped right by her how permanent everything was.

She knew to stay healthy she'd always have to be working on herself. She knew she'd constantly be changing. She knew she'd be a hard person to love.

But she didn't realize that her brain would stay broken, really broken, no matter how much of a good girl she was.

Six years ago, the girl named Grace was reserved but passionate. Extroverted but in love with her books. A straight A student. A great friend. The perfect daughter. She was messy, but she was focused. And maybe she didn't sleep a lot, but boy did she have so many dreams.

The broken brain took away invigorating, sleepless nights.

The broken brain chased off all her friends.

The broken brain tanked her grades.

The broken brain made her feel safer alone.

The broken brain made her organize everything, because it was the only thing she could control.

But what made it easier was seeing all her progress, watching the graph of her illness rise, even if it was still a jagged line. Grace felt that even if she was broken and moody and difficult that she was getting better.

But today, everything changed.

Looking at all her meds and all her schedules and all her coping strategies and all her perfect practices in place, and still feeling hollow inside, she realized it wasn't just that other people couldn't fix her and make her whole again.

She couldn't either.

No matter how hard she worked, or how much she believed, or how many times she corrected for every little warning sign, she would always be sick. Grace could do everything in her power to make things easier, do everything right, but nothing was going to fix her brain. It's almost like Bipolar Disorder is a chronic illness or something.

After all this hopeful time, she had to accept it wasn't just that past Grace was gone, it was that the ease and sanity that came with her was dead, too.

Being the perfect good girl Grace just never will be enough. Not to make her healthy again. If she spends what's left of her life trying to find that, she'll always be disappointed.

While old Grace, sane Grace, is survived by a neater, hardened Grace, she will be missed. The late night homework and laughing sleepovers and baked goods for classmates and indomitable confidence in the things she loves most are gone.

All we have left is to stand tall and move forward.

It's all we've ever had.
PoserPersona Feb 7
How sad the trees be
when winter comes as fall leaves
and the flowers die

What consolation
is Venus’s forsaken
yielding spring to rise?

For once staring death,
summer fastens by a breath
and the flowers die

Yet made to know doom,
trees tither the chance to bloom
yielding spring to rise
Kavya Mukhija Dec 2018
It is your childhood bestie on Facebook,
Miles away,
Yet just a tap away.
It's the sun shining from behind the clouds
On December mornings
While you work your *** off on your laptop
In bed in your 4-BHK apartment.
It is the soap bubble that bursts
Just with your one glance
Because memories are fragile.
They aren't made of hearts of stone
And kinetic sand.
They're made of soft toys
And fur animals.
Nostalgia is the balloon-seller you whizz by
At the traffic signal
Every morning.
It is the sweetness of strawberries
That falls drop by drop,
on your tongue,
That has forgotten to taste.
It is a subtle symphony that coffee plays
That only you can smell
Every evening.
It is the obedient smile that dances on your lips for a while
But fades away
As the smoke of dead habits take over.
It the closed window behind the curtains,
The forgotten post-its on the fridge,
The giggles trapped shut in between the pages of ******,
It is the withered rose on the tombstone
And the eulogy never spoken.
It is a teary-eyed laughter
In vacuum.
It is happy faces
In a photo frame.
It is the dictionary in a sentence,
Not something that can fit into a stance.
Xallan Dec 2018
Sometimes I forget-

Knowledge is slippery like a wet frog
Near impossible to pin down,
Look it in the eye, and demand answers,
Kissing it with unfulfilled wishes.

Memory too, what's loved is past,
Fallen into gaping black holes of time
Where synapses have failed and died,
Neurons curl away like sensitive ferns.

Oh how pain is forgotten! And failure,
I as an individual cannot remember
My fallacies, nor will history recall-
So that no one will ever learn.
Alysia Ascovani Dec 2018
Inside Death our souls mourn
For all given and lost
Lives turn to bitter shade
For all those left behind
To dream of days gone by

Change is never easy
Hurt fills the air
Floods our twisted heart
In the void of those abducted
Into the moonless terror that awaits

Solace of peace stolen too
Ripped from us all
To follow life to Death
In honor and in Love
Thou shalt never die

Our evening embraces dawn
In souls cold and dreary
Change is never easy
For Death's Love forever final
An eclipse tonight be everything

Harmless Death left
Naught to melancholy
To resign to living
With so hollow a sorrow
Thou shalt never die

Inconsolable silence
Shudders in shame
Fallen fatal futures
Torn in infinite seconds
Change is never easy

Memories all to linger
Bitter dissonance of
Fortune and Love
In invisible essence
Thou shalt never die

Death shines like a tear
Transcendent of our torment
Under forsaken farewell
Forever in Love and life
Memory to remember

Change is never easy
And so shall it be—
Thou shalt never die
Samuel Nov 2018
Excelsior
is the magic word
that he used
for these long years,
no matter what.
Excelsior:
it was a motto
for people who were more
than just people
but the people
who were just that,
just people.
Like me, like you.
Excelsior,
was a word he sang
in images and text
with heroes
built with many,
shaped by many,
inspiring us many.
Titans were raised
and now he’s fallen
but he left us a gift
in a magic word:
Excelsior.
Julian Delia Nov 2018
PART III: THE LOCKED DOOR

The straw that broke the camel’s back.
The lethal blow that made his resilience *****.
Think, analyse the commensurate reaction to his fate;
Paralysed and desperate, in his own words.

‘Asphyxiated’ seems like such a clean word;
‘He died of asphyxiation,’ that’s what the articles wrote.
What about dying of starvation? Let me elaborate on this note –
I meant, dying from being starved of hope.
I hardly think one ‘asphyxiating’ does this justice.
How about ‘a sense of debilitating hopelessness’, instead?
Or maybe ‘hopelessness that feels like all-encompassing dread?’

Because that’s what all of Gaza feels right now.
How? How the **** did we get here?
Year after year, Palestinians die and suffer.
Fear after fear, they come alive, one after the other.
‘We’re dead, already’ –
How does reading something like that not make you feel unsteady?

So, what do you do after suffering like that?
Nothing, except for lying down flat on your bed,
Crying, watching everybody around you dying.
And then, when you can’t cry anymore,
When you realise your entire country was treated like an eye sore,
When you can’t take it anymore,
That’s when you lock the ******* door.
That’s when Asma broke through that door,
To find her prodigal son dead, collapsed on the floor.
I finished it; Mohanad, I hope I have done your soul justice.
stopdoopy Nov 2018
There she goes

Girls file into line
Three by three
Knee length skirts

Down the aisle

Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine
Prayers morning, noon, and night
Careful now, They're prepared to smite

Up the Stairs

Now we dine
And then off to bed
One "lucky" girl gets to practice head

The tallest tower

She's had too much sacramental wine
Hands touched and caressed
And she felt far from blessed

Down she jumps

Touched by filthy swine
"what a horrible disaster"
Her eulogy given by that same pastor

The Devil moves on
Madison Oct 2018
I am so sorry

That they've burned down your home

Left you standing upon barren ground

Cast stones through sacred things

They shouldn't have even touched.


I am so sorry

That this **** world

Uses fear as ammunition

Never paying mind

To how you must feel

When used as the target.


I am so sorry

That people have 'opinions'

About these tragedies

Even turning well-deserved eulogies

Into slippery slopes.


I am so sorry

There were people screaming

Just when you were trying

To rest.


And I am so hopeful

That you will reach such magnificent heights

That they will never understand.
My heart goes out to the victims of the massacre at The Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and everyone who was affected. Words can not express the pain and anger that come along with situations like these.

If you would like to support the synagogue and those affected by the massacre, please donate here:  

https://www.gofundme.com/tree-of-life-synagogue-shooting?pc=&rcid=r01-154068572309-160a2bed6a4044a3
Lost Soul Oct 2018
Hi Everyone, I'm dead
Don't cry now
Where were you
When I lived in bed
No visits, texts, or calls
You were too busy
While I was alone in my room
Trying to remember to breathe while I bawl
Don't worry I'm not blaming you
Depression hit hard
I'm a coward
It was my fault too
I should  have done what was best
Stop pushing people away
Stop conforming to others wishes
Told my maybe boyfriend... yes
But its not about why or how
Stop crying,we had our chance
we blew it
I'm dead now
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