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Sarah Isma Jul 2018
i would like to thank my parents,
for raising the best liar,
for teaching me to not give in to my desires,
for showing me that this world is an open fire,
that i am just walking through the shooting grounds,
that i am just trying to make it past the bounds,
that for some reason i showed you my accomplishments,
but in the end you ask if that’s ever going to be enough
they say strict parents raise the best liars, and for once i realize that it’s true. It’s become a thing, a sort of addiction, that lies easily flow through, and deceit seems to be my best personality. I’ll change, i’ll try, and i hope someday i’m able to tell them the little truth hidden behind this huge lie.
Sombro Jan 2015
'Hold the candletip to my fingertips', she said
Shuddering under the weight of heat
And my incredulous stare.

'Do it'. she ordered, and I did,
Believing a love without identity would last as long,
'Cut off my hair.' she shouted

I did, it stuck up short
Cowlicks on her forehead
'Enough.' I said. She shook her head.

'Squeeze my chest, love, and don't be gentle,
For I shall know in the heave of my breast.'
I did and she cracked within under the hate of how much I wanted.

'Now, take my words-'
'Let me finish.' she said

'Take my words and give me yours,
We can share one voice,
My God we can.'

I took my words,
Though it was agony to rip them free
And she received them without thanks.

Her hair short, her words shorter
Her chest flat, her fingers flatter
Before me a mirror stood

I tried to see her face, but only hated mine
And told myself I would never see her again
I realised too late her difference was what made me love her.

— The End —