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victoria May 14
Reading Vonnegut

I'm reading Vonnegut
I'm tired
Had to look up three words
In three pages
The app wanted more money
To view the words
In a sentence
I don't have the money

So the sentances remain
Unknown  
I long to be more like Kurt
I dream intense
Repetitive dreams
My pen in my hand
Thoughts profound
I reside inside his followers
I want to go to a party

And quote meaningful texts
I want to join that society
'Catachresis'
Now there's a word for me
The writer inside me
Is trapped
Uncultured

Behind failed education
Inside a broken mind
Desperate to find those words
To explain my thoughts
Which are deep and saturated of
Feeling..... No one will hear me
My emotions frozen

Those three words
In three pages
Already evaporated
I have another four words now
Four more to research
Four more to skim my brain
To mock my intelligence
The app wants more money

I'm reading vonnegut
And I'm tired
I try to learn a new word a day. But there are so many. And so many books I feel shut out of. It's too overwhelming. And I forget. My processing speed is 30... Which is extremely low. I know what I want to say but can't find the words...
“I want to be friends again...”

That’s all I wanted.

“...for her sake.”

That’s when I realized
I cared a hell of a lot more
Than he ever did.
La Girasol Feb 2019
She has a name.

After all, she has a titular role.

Sometimes, she'll go by other names. My personal favorites are Anger, Sadness, A Filter, Pretending, Comparison, Expectations, Faking It, Perfectionism, and Silliness, amongst others.

But one day, she whispered her name to me, so softly that I thought it was just the wind.

"My name is Grief... my name is Grief" she repeated to me.

I cried at the weight of her words.

For I already knew her name, but I didn't want to believe it. But there it was, out in the open. Vulnerable and real.

Some days, I slam and lock the door in her face, ignoring her knocking.
Other days, I don't even bother to get up as she steps lightly into the room.

I hope someday to give her a hug and thank her for her years of wisdom and hurt, and how the two are inseparable.

There's something else too. She told me it the other day, under the too-long absent winter sun as I wept once more.

"I'm your sister... I'm your sister" she whispered, gently and lovingly.
To hard days & sad days & winter days & bad days & dark days & all days that feel endless. I am here. And I am alive.
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The "My name is Grief" idea was inspiration from Pinterest. Credits to original author.
La Girasol Feb 2019
There! Can you feel it?

It's as if the whole of the earth's sighs,
the nudging of the painted skies,
the tremblings of valleys and peaks,
the singing of oceans and creeks,
the gentle tug of the moon,
the torrent of the monsoon,
the impact of a tear-stained face,
the heat of a lover's embrace,

and the fierce shouts of the stars
came together in a harmonious uproar.

All to proclaim Your majesty
and a single thought that soars,
"Try".
La Girasol Feb 2019
I hold an impossible mirror above my head, just out of reach.

The audience can't see it, only me.
They clap and laugh and grin while I do my routine.

Meanwhile something hangs overhead.

So I'll do the dance, I'll put on the show, I'll do what they want.

But I scream within,
for mirror shards are no fickle sin.

"More! More!" they chant.

So I hold up the mirror instead.

But they know no difference.
For the mirror,
is what they've always been fed.
La Girasol Feb 2019
I wept for myself today. A younger me, that is.

For what I wish I could tell her. For what should have been.

I mourned for her years of pain and apathy and feelings of invalidation. For what should have been.

I would give her a big hug, for all the ones she didn't receive.

I would tell her to be brave, but to remember to cry too, for what should have been.

I would take her bra shopping and celebrate her womanhood, for what should have been.

I would tell her about my own pain and trauma. I would teach her what empathy is, for what should have been.

I would encourage her to be honest. I would be serious with her and teach her about grief and sadness, for what should have been.

I would tell her that it's not over. And that she is not who or what others think she is.

I would tell her to smash the impossible mirror she is holding up, for what should have been.

And I would hold her. So, so close. For what should have been.
Carter Ginter Feb 2019
My heart broke 700 times

I'm glad you found your closure
It feels like it opened a cavity in my chest
A billowing hole ******* the air
From out of my lungs and
Away from my brain
Away from the sanity I've created
Where I thought I felt secure
But instead the infrastructure was so weak
That the simple memories you mentioned
Left a mark on me yet again
As my heavy heart weighs me to my bed
And I wish so desperately to be alone
I feel as though I'm dying
I must accept reality as it is
I know that all too well
That's why I agreed to meet
To see you
To see me
To see us
Now
We're different than we once were
And while I understand how and why
My soul mourns the moment
And I know I should just live it fully
Because so soon it'll pass
And once again
We'll be strangers on the street
One heart armored with reinforced steel
The other a sloppy mess of
Broken shards and what ifs
Rotting until it turns to ash
And new flowers bloom from its death
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