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Anna Shallow Jan 2020
My most precious memory of you is the last photo we took together.

Your gaze was calm and mesmerizing, full of intentions impossible to enumerate.

Your famous mischievous smile almost seemed innocent in contrast to your mocking tongue, which displayed the secret jewel that adorned it.

But that wasn't the boldest decoration of your body.

Some of it was born with you, like the three perfectly aligned birthmarks below your left eye. Others you decided to bring to light, like your fascinating and terrifying lilac eyes, and your silver hair, pieces of the moon Herself melting over your head.

You were bizarrely lovely.

Like a good dream that would make waking up sweeter, you became my most beloved fantasy.

It ran through your veins a natural drug that you secretly shared with me and the world would become colorful as a deranged kaleidoscope every time we started flying.

And then, tragedy.

The world turned into gray, the color of your new uniform and ugly handcuffs.

Never again did a fun day come, just new horrific scars.

They cut off your wings, bound your hands, and plucked what they called “your abominable eyes”.

Screams, cries, and revolts did nothing to save you. Soon, there was only silence.

Lost and desperate, I decided to imprison myself in the same darkness into which you were thrown, attempting to be united to you again.

That picture became a blade that cut deep into my brain as it reminded me of how beautiful our madness was.

So I became blind, just like you.

My sky never again had bright, endless lilac stars that colored my life.

We were forced to discover sanity is not so pleasant...
Erian Rose Sep 2019
I have written these poems for so long
but now they just feel
forced
Juno Jun 2019
Was there ever a story
As sad or unjust
As that of the Lady Jane Grey?

Abused by her mother
And forced to wed
At 16 already literally
Lost her head.
blackbiird Jun 2019

We’ve built the wall surrounding our castle—
Slowly becoming each other’s demise.
Sounds of slamming doors and shattering glass pierces the silence.
What an inconvenience this life has become.

The pendulum that once swung has taken its final swing.
Envious cries cutting through infinite silence.
Visons of thieving wolves that capture our castle—
Removing delicate, intricately sewn lies
What an inconvenience this life has become.

Esther L Krenzin Apr 2019
I am the girl who brings the rain
I am the girl of many floods
so be wary
for
I don a cloak of thistles
and thorns when
provoked.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
Mihle Mdashe Mar 2019
We have skin as muddy as waters. Vaginas smelling of blood, unwanted babies and 400 years of forced entries. That's all we have in common. What I have is sickness in the mind. Many people say depression is the emperor of many mentalities; some say it turns your mind into this forbidden city, giving you 8000 sorts of depressing feelings like no will ever love you, just go they won’t even notice you’re gone. They call it depression dynasty. They give depression so much prestige and many of them romantizes depression. But do they really know what it is? It's all watered down into something antidepressant can tone down but pills can't help all the attacks that come from different angles. Laughter turns into tears cause you can't help but hear that little voice "You're not happy", so I'd rather sit in my bedroom and write. Oh wait I've lost that skill now, thanks to my anxiety that is. That's depressions' cousin, depression felt the need to invite him over. Funny how life goes. I thought I'd abort this poetry thing,when all the pain tones down creativity seems to find a new abode. Failed poet I call myself, I can't use high metaphors, fail to express all these emotions so what's the use. I seem to fail at everything I do. I'm trying not to waste my time, but this is what I want to do. The demons come as a sequence of powerful leaders and I just can't sit here and let them dictate to me.
A poem of what it's been like having to live with depression.
j Feb 2019
It's good reminiscing every night
Remember the good times we had
It became my habit, looking back to our yesterday
It's just a happy memory

I feel the other way tonight
I realized something
Asked myself
"What if you're just being forced by the idea of my love?"

Maybe our ideas of love won't just click
If we still continue this, we'll be sick
I love you, I want reasons to stay
I hope you still feel the same way.




--jeannery a.




What if you're just being forced by the idea of my love? What if I'm just forcing you to love me more when you can't? Honey, help me. Those what if's are slowly killing.
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