My scarred up fists that broke with weary Long wilted petals released Once rose, once lily And I watched them drop off fingertips, Catch the breeze And with ease, drip off the cliff Down from the mountaintop
-I scream at you for bleeding everywhere, when I myself feel like an never-ending open wound.
-Lazy, laying, and filled with disdain we sit and let time wander through the dusty halls.
-Suspended in mid-air, twirling amongst light and darkness, I wait for movement to occur.
-The smog has lifted, but we remained mentally clouded and uncertain.
-There's plenty of food, but nobody eats. We stay still until the sun sets and countless clouds of *** eagerly activate the palate. Then we feast meagerly on snacks and drink and drink and drink until tomorrow blinks into our vision. We clean until the space feels open and momentarily alive, only to wreck it through the night to create purpose for the next day.
-The fragility of the day immediately crumbles in my hands the moment I make contact.
-I'm holding my breath, hoping all the air will keep me afloat.
-Because in the end I'm just a scared girl, shooting arrows at the world trying to pinpoint my direction.
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I never liked people who call trauma "interesting" especially in reference to those white raised lines cascading skin, or young worship of praying for the hurt to stop in my sleep.
Devoting years to stupid diets, melting away the jiggle of my thighs, sometimes when I indulge, my brain receives texts but I don't reply.
You certainly don't, so why should we give energy to the notion, I am only as interesting as my suffering. Saving ourselves isn't a definitive moment, though I strive to find purpose within myself, slivers who I'm meant to be come through in conversations with you.
All those years, living life like an obituary. I want to show you I'm more than a picture that told herself shallow things like, ugly people are a statistic and pretty people are a portrait- these things bore me.
But your head resting between my thighs as I hold you