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Nick Huber May 31
You have to give yourself permission.
You said that once, I remember it clearly.
I remember you saying that. Right in the middle of one of those many episodes I had.
You know,
One of those episodes where I sat at the table.
Shaking my leg,
Hunched over my journal.
You remember the one:
It's that journal I have that looks like an old Islamic prayer book.
Complete with geometric patterns embossed on the front, machine painted, with a lock on its side.
That lock, that doesn't really lock.
It keeps itself shut through intimidation.

You and the book have so much in common: maybe it's your sister.
Or something like your sister. Of the same blood, of the same mother, but maybe of different fathers.
That's not the point though. It doesn't really matter.
But I remember it well.
Even though it never actually happened.

Really, it was just part of a dream. Whether it was a dream I had during the day, or one at night like everyone else has at some point in their lives.

It's just, I remember it well.
Like it actually happened.

Maybe by thinking about it this way...
It did.
Like telepathic communication, or reading my "energies", or something else that can't be proven beyond a feeling.
Maybe in this dream... You were there.
Not as an extension of my subconscious desire,
but like you were physically there.
My brain interpreting the electrical signals of you being right in front of me.
Kind of like your picture that shows up on my phone when you call.
Existing, but encased in memory, not reaching out.

But really, you couldn't have been there.
You were only present in these dreams.
Comforting me there, taking my hands, speaking softly into my ears.
In real life, I knew that was impossible.
You could see nothing, through my eyes.
You could never be that close for long.
I guess it hurt you in a way, I couldn't see. But,
I wanted you there.

But lets go back. Let's not get discouraged. Let me remember what you said in that dream, where one detail is always left out.
What was it you were saying? It seemed very important.
And I can't help but feel the memory I have, is counterfeit.
Because I'm a man, who questions my motives.
And you being there, seems so clear. Like it had to have happened.

So let's recap: there we were, in the car, staring at the city lights. Scriabin's Piano Sonata 6, blaring through the stereo. This scene always seems to cut out, right at this point. Your hand was gripping my own. Your fingers, lightly caressing my skin. My heart was racing, I looked at your eyes and said: "What's next?"
Your hand reached up, brushed my cheek. Our embrace moving closer and closer. Your hair, resting softly with my fingers moving through.

                                                                             (End Scene)
What am I giving myself permission for?
m h John May 21
give yourself permission
to be who you are
and still be loved for it
don’t be afraid of yourself
Pyrrha Feb 24
I'm a diamond, I don't need your permission to shine
Yuki Feb 13
Give the gates
of your heart
permission to
be wide open
but make sure
not to let winter
settle in your
feeble bones.
S O P H I E Jan 27
in back alley ways and missed phone calls
i let the world know i couldn't stay
i waved goodbye to the front door
as i walked to the end of the world
i gave my body permission to decay
and gifted my soul to the north
i took a bite out of the sea
and rejoiced it overlayed
the acrid taste the pills left in my mouth
i layed down to take my bow
and woke up in the same place
and i don't know why i woke up.
Micaela Jan 2018
I hurt
I hurt but I have no reason to hurt
Other than I am human
I tell myself “others have had it worse than you”
“You don’t deserve to feel this way”
“How dare you”
The guilt I ****** upon myself settles into my skin like an infected wound
Digging itself deeper and deeper every day

I no longer allow myself to feel the things I do
Because if I do, I am a fraud
I am selfish
I am undermining those who suffer greater pain than I
Those who have lost the ones they love most
Those who’ve had their hearts broken by supposed soul mates

Yet, in my heart I know my emotions are pure
I hurt because I am human
And simply being human permits me to feel what I may
My tears are justified
Along with my laughter and beams of joy
I am allowed to feel

I am not depressed because I am human
I am human because I am depressed
I am human because I cry
I am human because I care
I am human because I feel guilt
And pain
And compassion
And strength
And fear

Give yourself the right to be human
There is no need for any other label
You deserve to be cared for
Not only by others
But by yourself
Set the guilt free
And you will set yourself free
my rose colored glasses
cannot censor the fear
i feel in the presence of him.
like a suspect,
the lady-like lenses crack under pressure
when his hand conveniently slips
on a busy night.
bustling, blinding, blending
right into the blur are his hands
guiding my anxieties and insecurities through the roof
as he grants himself permission
to lust my body the way no one has ever done before.
and i feel the foriegn touch
unwelcome on my adolescent hips.
but still i stand with a padlock over my trembling lips.
Dr zik Apr 2017
I can say what I want
I can go where I want
I don’t leave as I don’t want
I often feel!
I have You in my heart
DivineDao Jan 2017
The rise of The light
Frolicked unnoticed ~ Passing
You by ~ Myriad Thoughts
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