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Amaris 3d
I don’t want time to cool off after getting mad
I want you to prove that you’re sorry
Stop asking what you can do to make it better
Don’t just sit there and repeat back to me
Offer me suggestions and do them anyway
Beg my forgiveness down on your knees
Spend the next eight hours overthinking
Get angry and expressive, ******* unfreeze
Fight back, take up a weapon and strike
God knows I’ve given you a million to date
Or deliver an overblown romantic gesture
It could be literally anything I’d appreciate
Hey, can you listen? It’s not that hard
Do I have to scream to be heard?
I don’t think I’m making an impact
You still stand there undeterred
Body, forgive my anger.
I know this illness is woven in your foundations.
I know you know no different.
This useless shell I have been gifted is only genetics.
You try your best,
I understand.
I try to.
You do only as you know how,
This pain is the only tool you have to break.
I know this.
Forgive my frustration.
My existence has been wrought with this suffering.
I cope the only way I know how.
I am not angry at you,
How could I be,
You have carried me like a mother.
Understand this loose host of elastic joints is just temporary,
This unholy soul is just unsettled.
Body, forgive my anger,
I know you don't know what else to do.
I suffer with a connective tissue disorder called Hypermobility Syndrome. The chronic pain it has caused me over the years has often times been horrendous, and this time of year as the seasons change rapidly, it's frustrating to live in my own skin sometimes.
I’m the only one with dirt on my hands,
I’ve been crossing my fingers and snapping rubber bands.
And the fragments and pieces build into a story,
I transformed it to a thesis; the quality’s too low for me,
and I never set my expectations too high,
as should I, a lack of truth and abundance of lie.
My oh my and by the by.

There’s cracks in my ceiling and head,
there’s splinters in my skin and my bed,
there’s poison in the words I was fed.

I’m the only one missing pressure on my shoulders,
replaced the gentle weight with two heavy boulders.
I was wishing on satellites thinking they were stars,
breaking free from embraces thinking they were bars,
admiring fireflies not realizing they were cars
but I’m painfully aware of my own
scars.
I’m holding open seminars
to these memoirs of ours.

There’s cracks in my ceiling and shell,
there’s craters in my heart where I fell,
there’s holes in each story you tell.
Em MacKenzie Oct 5
Why do me the courtesy
of meeting me half way?
Unleashing your opinions of me,
putting fears to rest and keeping pain at bay.
You might aswell just ****** me,
this game I never signed up to play,
yet still I’m screaming it out internally
but it’s not my place to say.
I guess I’ll keep quiet for another day.
Two weeks [redacted] you.


I think I said that out of anger-

but I don’t think you could blame me-

or maybe you do-

because I know now how it feels-

to have spent two weeks [redacted] you.


I can’t even say the words because

I don’t want anyone to judge me-

rather that’s the last thing I need-

as while I was [redacted] you I wasn’t

[redacted] myself.

I was mean.

I was harsh.

If that’s what [redacted] you was-

then well, maybe I’m better off.


I did [redacted] you. I think I have did a while-

and people say that to [redacted] someone else you have to [redacted]

yourself but that’s not true because I hated myself when I [redacted]

you.


I thought everything I did was wrong-

I said this-

I did that-

did you think I meant that-

and even if you understood what you think I said-

could you tell that I [redacted] the idea of being with you like that?


Why can’t I [redacted] the idea of [redacted] myself the way that I so

desperately wanted to [redacted] you?
Em MacKenzie Oct 3
Playing a game of cat and mouse
but we both lose track of the bird.
My scorched soil I failed to douse,
I’m filled with such fuel; it’s so absurd.
I linger always alone in an empty house,
speaking two thoughts but I left out the last word.
They were meant with love but I turned to grouse,
either way they never seem to be heard.

I wish I was licking stamps
instead of licking my wounds.
My letter to you gifts my fingers cramps,
I hope one day you decipher it soon.
The one thing that I am best at
is always being a bad example,
I can elaborate on how to keep looking back,
but not on the best way things should be handled.
And I hope one day you’ll see your name
woven in each line and all my stanzas.
But I think when you see it that way, I’ll just explain,
not to go buying me green bananas.

When I was 15 I chose to sign up as an ***** donor,
but all are probably damaged, and the vital ones are no longer mine.
I offered them as tribute to a Queen I adore,
she collected them and added to her shrine.

My tongue is tied tight when I try to express
importance and just what it all means to me,
but if you listen closely to my chest
you’ll hear my heart beating steadily.
And when you’re dressed to the nines
I’ll still be in left in my pajamas.
Waving my arms to direct the signs,
just don’t go buying me green bananas.

I accepted your world became my cage
but I was loyal; I didn’t need a lock.
I reasoned it as the final stage,
I didn’t need a chain just for you to mock.

I’m not angry, I’m not sad,
no resentment from me, don’t go feeling bad.
I’d still take this dagger as long as it’s your hand that grips
I wouldn’t escape or try to stagger,
sadly I’m done with my trips.

I concede and admit that I’ve gone mad,
welcomed with hallelujahs and an amen.
I’m having trouble stripping off my plaid,
but I figure it’s finally time to change stripes again.
i need some water
to quench my thirsty pain
it has refused to stop swelling
within the gaps around my ribs
forming hard bubbles
as it swallows me in
cocoons me safely into
stiff crooked mazes
dark heartless halls
all of which my mind makes for fun
barriers extended, walls constructed
to let out
only segments  
of hell

this weak and cracked silver dryland
can’t begin no shiny harvest
the crops will die
the hope will follow
the soil is weak the words are hollow
my sweet, my love, how are you doing?
i’m fine, i’m fine, i’m doing fine
i sew my tongue into the roof of my mouth
and bend my lips into the back of my tight throat
beat stubborn tears into watery eyes
and blame the wind the fan spits out

mother, father - we are in a shattered season
of separate flatlands and heavy skies
will we ever be unobscured by forced laughs and family gatherings?
by hills or mountains or sunday church?

may this air force bold breath out of me and you?  
no ordinary small talk will prevent my rage any longer not my small quiet voice from getting larger
we need to speak of the sickness in our heads
or we surely will die
on separate flatlands
on words unsaid
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