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Mallory Jun 2017
Drunk girl cries a lot because sober girl can't. Sober girl knows how to play her cards and twist her tongue so drunk girl seems more fun. So drunk girl seems under control.  So drunk girl doesn't get written off as lush. Doesn't get written off as addict. Doesn't get put into a frame of condescending looks lined with disdain, but not enough empathy to remember that drunk girl is still a girl. Still has feelings. Still knows that her answers aren't at the bottom of any bottle; She stopped asking questions a long time ago. Sober girl thinks maybe drunk girl can handle her liquor this time, because her tolerance is higher than all her friends. She's always higher than all her friends. But drunk girl hasn't been around in a while. Drunk girl can still drink you under the table. Drinking habits die hard. Drunk girl goes hard. Pushes her limits. Drinks herself sick. Drinks herself full. Sober girl tries to fill herself but turns inside out and empty. Sober girl knows people patronize drunk girl. They pity drunk girl. They taste sour in their mouth when they spit drunk girl. Their eyes burn memories into their brains, drunk girl forgets the night but drunk girl remembers the way people put themselves up on a pedestal so high they can't look into her eyes anymore to feel her heart beating. Despite the nails sticking into it. Because they aren't drunk girl. But they're still "blank" girl. They're still "whatever" girl. They're still "insert adjective here" girl. But drunk girl still needs love. The way anyone else does. Drunk girl is still girl who paints. Girl who sings. Girl who writes. Girl who thinks outside the box that everyone puts her in. Still doesn't judge anyone else for their release, or their "sins". Sober girl likes to stay in focus but sober girl doesn't feel love the way that drunk girl can. Doesn't feel loved the way drunk girl can pretend. People like to talk about how drunk, drunk girl's been, but still like going out drinking with drunk girl. They're careful of how much time they spend with sober drunk girl. Do not forget that drunk isn't all drunk girl is. Peel back the label you've plastered all over drunk girl, because reducing her down to drunk girl says less about her, than it does about you.
I wrote this from a bit of an ironic perspective, not sure how to feel about it yet
Arik Stone Apr 2017
I used to love my mother.
I wanted to be like her.
She was the person I looked at as an adult.
Today I no longer love her.
Today she is the cause of all my problems.
From my health problems, due to her drug use while she was pregnant,
To my mental problems, both hereditary and from situations she put me in.
My addiction problems, not only because she’s an addict but also from how she treated me.
My eating disorder, because she used to bully me about my weight.
I have problems making friends because she ****** me up so bad I don’t relate to people well.
I’m afraid of being alone with men because of how many times she left me with random men and every time I ended up getting hurt, from as young as 3 ******* years old.
I lost trust in the system because no matter how many times CPS was called she found a way to keep me and my brother, because she’s ****** her way out of every one of her arrests. Including but not limited to, possession of a controlled substance, driving without a license, prostitution, endangerment of a minor, petty larceny, and grand larceny.
I have authority problems because her parenting left me with no positive thoughts about authority.
I’m currently $1,263.21 in debt because she used me for drug money.
I don’t know how to handle my emotions healthily because for the first 16 years of my life I wasn’t even allowed to have them.
And even though she is also a victim of **** and ****** abuse she told me I was a liar and that she didn’t believe me when I told her her boyfriend’s son had been ****** me for years. She stayed with the man and told me it was a family decision about what to do about it.
She didn’t believe me when I told her her boyfriend felt me up while she was away taking care of her dying mother either.
I thought my abusive relationships were okay because she treated me the same way.
She’s why I was a closeted transboy for so ******* long. And when she finally found out I was screamed at me and told me I was a girl no matter what.
My mother.
My mother doesn’t deserve my love or my respect.
All my mother is today is a model of what not to do.
Alternate title: "Maria Briggs"
Arik Stone Apr 2017
It’s your birthday today.
Every year this day is a bad day for me.
I think about you and your green eyes, and the pain you’ve caused me.
But I always end up breaking down and texting you.
I always tell you Happy Birthday,
I always make sure you’re okay and having a good day, it’s your birthday after all.
But you never remembered mine.
Every single birthday of yours since I was in 6th grade I’ve been here.
Doing my best for you.
I wanted to give you the world.
Even when it almost killed me.
Even though you only pretended to care about me.
This is the day I let myself get wasted,
I let myself slip back into old addictions just for a night, so maybe I could forget what day it is.
Not only is it the day you were born, it’s the day I lost Flower.
I know you told me to get over it, and I know you’ll never understand.
But March 23rd is one of the worst days of my life.
See "Green Eyes" and "WildFlower"
Zane McHarris Feb 2016
Feeling the fear, of feeling alone
I turn to liquid in crystal stone.
I pour the acid into my cup.
And pray to God that I have enough.

Alone again, freezing as my body burns,
Seeking the devil for which I yearn.
I swallow the ghost, haunting my mind;
And breath new life through dilated eyes.

Holding on to a crescent moon,
Called into life by my blackened spoon.
I feel the demon, his needle fangs,
Inject himself in my flowing veins.

Higher now than ever before,
She knows just what her body's for,
Feigning love, for just one night.
I'm still alone; but for now I feel alright.
Adellebee Jan 2016
I use substances
To plan an escape
To run away
With not even moving

Turn off my mind
My brain gets loud
All the wrongs I have done
All the times I was let down

I feel everything, and everything and everything

I leave these emotions, these pieces of my history

Hidden behind, humour, hidden behind, lust, hidden behind, trust

I feel everything

And most of the time I want it to stop
And I fill up that cup
Take one more shot
Because everything I got

Reminds me of what I am not
Shannon Perry Dec 2015
Don't tell me you know who he really is in all his madness
until you know the ways he tried to **** his sadness.
Until you know of the blood running like a river down his thighs
from the gaping wounds he makes all the while he cries,
until you see the crimson waterfalls rushing from the veins on his wrist,
as he tries his best to succeed at ceasing to exist.

Don't tell me you know him until you know how he spends every waking moment at war with his mind,
guided by the black dog incredibly prominent; the same darkness that has him so confined.
Until you're aware of his tendency to seek amnesia at the bottom of endless bottles of whiskey,
until you understand that this crisis leads his behaviour to become most risky.

Don't tell me you know him until you know of how he starves himself and strives for perfection,
because tormentors told him that he's not good, thin or man enough - so it's all he sees in his reflection.
Until you've seen him punching holes in the walls wanting the pain to cease,
until you've seen him popping hundreds of pills hoping from an escape from the world, looking for release.

So don't tell me you know who he really is in all his madness
until you know the ways he tried to **** his sadness,
you only see the parts he wants you to see -
you cannot understand he's broken into merely debris.
Charlie's Web Apr 2015
You sit on the holy hollow thrown in my body.
Calling for salvation, claiming camaraderie

The internal tick I tend to mend,
sits on my chest, sinks into my irises.

A sip, a snort, a huff whisper safe promises.

You are the thumb I **** singing lullabies to sleeping peace,
the knife I carry down dark streets.

You are the doctor I call when I break my arm,
the scarf I wear in winter storms.

But too,

You are the *** hole in main streets,
and a broken belt in the drivers seat,
the sour milk in my fridge when I make English tea.
You've put salt in my sugar.

You are the feet that fall asleep in a moment of danger.

You are a beautiful thought waiting to unfold on black paper.

You sit on the holy hollow thrown in my body.
Commanding toxic tensions, comforting ill redemptions.


The kingdom we live in is drinking resilience,
mind stepping back into its brilliance.

You still sit on the holy thrown in my body.
But I too fight for survival
and you still dable with devils.

But the battles I face are no longer hollow,
and sometimes I miss the comfort of denial.
WistfulHope Dec 2014
Please stop trying to **** yourself,
That was supposed to be me.
I'm worried about you.
You're killing both of us,
and it's only supposed to be me.
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