Damere Jul 13

What does being petty do for you?
Is it just a coping mechanism to help you get through?
Does it help you mask the truth?
Even though you try to hide what it really is, you knew.
So from this moment forward, what do you do?

The way I see it, you have two options:

You can sit back and let the toxins sink deep inside your self conscious as you go over your losses until you feel nauseous

Or you can take it on the cheek, accept defeat and keep on moving with that last ounce of dignity that lives from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet

You could hit the book and write out an entire dissertation that honestly gives a one sided explanation of the creation of your situation.
The status gets posted for your audience
But that post wasn't for them, it's obvious

It was personally for you because you felt that you finally found a person that you can put your faith into.  But , they took that trust and threw it out to the dogs for them to chew

Being petty doesn't stop the pain, posting it on social media just covers your hurt up like a temporary bandaid
To truly get over the shame , stop placing blame,

Show that individual that you can be the bigger adult
Quit with pettiness, cut out those insults

Martine Jul 12

You have outgrown it,

it no longer fits you.

Old ideologies wither up, like too small shoes.

No one's there to hold your hand,

because you know better now.

Got the blues because those growing pains are starting to become too powerful to ignore.

Some truly do take longer, but you've been lying to yourself all week, all month, all year..

The procrastination you used to slide on doesn't fit anymore.  

The self-doubt that you once tried pulling on over your head, now causes friction against your skin.

The blanket of these familiar things no longer keep you warm; for you have evolved above and outgrown them all.

Your fire now burns too bright. You can not douse the flames in mediocrity.

It is time to grow up.

-Martine Beauvais

I lost interest in you
When you became
Inaccessible to me.
I lost interest in you
When I began to enjoy
My own company.
I lost interest in you
When you didn't look much different to me
From anyone else.
I lost interest in you
When I had no need
To have any interest
In anyone.

Never forget
The lines in my face
Are no disgrace
They speak of a place
You haven’t been yet.

And remember too
The gray in my hair
Is a tale of somewhere;
Tales I can share
That might help guide you.

The frequent bend
In each of my knees
Is on someone who sees
The future as eminent
And the past as a friend.

And my sight now is new;
It’s harder for me
To correctly see
What I read in books
But not what people do.

I’ve heard the sounds of time
The joys and the tears
For so oh many years;
I can tell the difference
Between blessings and crimes.

You're nearly 51 years old.
You're "over the hill" now!
But "the hill" was really a dangerous pass!
The Valley of Maturity
On the other side of "the hill"
Seems desolate.
Only the most resilient plants
Can grow there.
Is like the Australian Outback
Or the Kalahari.
It is not filled
With the sweet fruits of love
Or the fragrant flowers of romance.
There is something to be said
For adapting to harsh conditions.
Before you climbed "over the hill"
Into the Valley of Maturity,
You weren't so

Teach me to love you right
So that I can love you best
Teach me to how to fight
So you can worry less

Teach me to care for you
By caring for me too
This mutual thing we do
It is what binds us two

Teach me to crave you more
So that I'll miss you when I bore
Teach me to hate you more
So that I can love you forevermore

Teach me to entirely forget
What and where broken hearts went
Teach me to rememeber sorrows, so I can cry myself wet
Teach me to smile for tomorrow, so I can laugh at memories when we met

Teach me to say goodbye
To you dear my heart still flies
Teach me never to pass by
So I can keep going on, 'til this heartache dies

I dunno if I posted this again or what. I found it in my FB page.
Anne Molony May 31

22:40. Blue-hued screen scrolling. Procrastination induced youtube videos. I poked at the piano to avoid study- two hours of untintelligable chords.
I hid in my duvet and treated myself to dreaming.
Imagining an older mans lips. Everywhere, exploring me. He’s 26 and lingers in my conscious.
I’m mentally older.

I haven’t studied yet. Not for Art History or French and it is already late.
I don’t know how I lost motivation for everything. I can’t drive further. Paralysed by the concept of taking the initial leap from an overdue board, plunging into dreaded workload. Swallowed by violent whrilpools of feared anxiety. It is inevitable.

I try too hard. To express myself. I don’t know what charachter to play. Other’s opinions are placed too high up on my importance shelf. Hopelessy hesistant? Approval obsessed? I’m lying. To everyone. I’m not who I say. I don’t really know who I am, or what or who I like. And love.
I’m 17 and would really like if people thought I was nice and innocent and pure and smart and loyal and cultured
promiscuous and free and unbound.
Wild and sexual and desired.
And that my spotify playlist is bomb. Have you heard of this quirkly, lesser known artist? I have.

“Who are you?” My sleepy mind mocks me.
It tears holes and ties knots. It drips and oozes and makes toxic puddles.
It contaminates confidence. Daily.
Instagram is a persona maintained for an audience that seldom claps. 100 whistles for smart captions, pretty faces, good lighting, over-exposed and contrasted (highly saturated) filters-
and roses for cleavage.
My distorted caricature.
Desperate for affection and searching for a stranger. Addicted to the idea that a soul could long for me.

I’m learning the new language of love. It’s cloudy and I’ve only
broken sentences.
Unfortunately already-fluent in the tongue of
drunk hook-ups and
meaningless touches and
compromised endeavors and
disguised intentions.

I have never felt what I was promised.
I want to bathe myself in it
seas of infatuation
if it exists.

For l have long believed that love is false, misconstruing and destructive.
Love is boundless acceptance and good company. Delicate emotions. Magic and magnetic. I long for this. I crave something.

Something a little more than a french boy in a dried up river on top of me, panting I love you’s in broken english and mistaking my moans for those of intense, unbearable pleasure. Something a little more meaningful than the taxi-yellow lit disabled toilet on new years eve with a boy who flinched at the marks on my thighs.
Something a little sturdier than the 4:am coitus cuddling with a boy trying not to wake our friends on the shadowy bedroom floor.
Unreliable arousal.
Am I unfairly deprived?

Its 00:26. 8 hours until French.

A rough first attempt at a grown up poem

As my experience narrows,
What am I gonna' write about?
Narrowing passageways?
A narrow bridge?
Do I have the right to preach
About narrow-minded people
When I can't help
But to become one myself?
Should I write about
An anorexics model's narrowing waste?
Yes, I should write about the SHAME
Many women feel
About being Real Women.
This Shame is  the main reasons
Why people narrow their lives.
If we learn to  respect
The Feminine Aspect,
We won't have to narrow out lives so much
As we age.

Carlys May 22

Let it be luck or fate
You and I became legends
Us against the world

With each battle,
Enemies came to fight
As allies made appearance

Wars are ongoing
But they hinder
From time to time

Young and optimistic,
We were not yet burdened,
With heavier dilemmas

We enjoyed our time
With each passing season,
Our dreams became bigger

We were the same
But different in pace
We became a comparison

No one warned us
That we could defy
One another

After our first few quarrels
We used the word "forever"
Often as we overcame obstacles

Like poison seeping in
Quarrel after quarrel,
"Forever" fell short of itself

There were more stories
Of us and our memories
Than memories being made

Maturity and experience
Changed everything
From our minds to physicalities

Sharp pain resides in my heart
Orignated from comparisons
I hated everything.

You recieved praise
And lost yourself in it
I lost my voice and will.

Mind tricks of my own doing
Distance flourished
As did I.

We were aware of ourselves
But we expected more too
We were no longer on the same page

Something crashed in us
It left marks and bruises
Left us broken and in pieces

Unsure of what was next
Our blades were drawn
Wounded each other with deceit

Haunted with hate,
You became headstrong
I took myself faraway

Time slowed down
The storm calmed
Everything softened

My sun grew confident again
Beaming from above,
Into what was left of me

The shadow casted
Showed me some truth
My mind cleared and spoke

Aren't we peers,
Or the least bit, equal?
When will you learn?

Look at me.
Who do you see,
If not someone found and free?

Words fled quickly
From my tired being
I justified myself for you (again)

You say you understood
But your skull and bones thick
With stubborn and pride.

Spiteful knives sharpened
By shared secrets and confessions
Tell me what part of me do you target

This new nature you claim
Doesn't not suit you well
But maybe the colors are true

It might be time
To take your turn
And make a realization

Patience is my life
All I have is time
But I'm growing

I am not the pity you see
When you look at me
I am beyond that
and so much more

I don't need anyone who doesn't need me.
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