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stillhuman Jan 19
It burns
My chest
My eyes
My face
With shame

The tears
Were meant to heal
But instead they broke,
Caused me to choke

It was meant to be fine
Shouldn'tve dismissed the signs
Signs of you not being mine
And having me in your mind

Doesn't matter each way
Dismissed my feelings in the ashtray
Put them all where
They won't see another day

I miss companiable hugs
Instead of mental drugs

I don't need no rush
No guilt or shame
For loving who you are
And hating you the same
It kind of feels like eternity when I'm with you
stillhuman Dec 2020
It's harder for my lungs
to open up to new air
when you're here
than when you're not

After all your presence takes
all the space I used to shape
to fit my own self
my own taste

Instead you force me
into a mold you've created
Force my body to fit
my mind to submit
my patience to coexist
with things I never wanted
A life not made for me

I'm just one of your mannequins
to pass the time
when people disappoint you
life doesn't go your way
your choices don't matter
so that you can shape me
into your own frustrations
and smother my essence

I'm just one of your mannequins
that you've left
I don't fit
in myself.
I was in love with a girl once who didn't love me back. She made me feel inadequate but also the best, most unrealistic version of myself
stillhuman Dec 2020
How to stop
My thoughts from running
To you
From painting
Phantom pictures
Of soft touches
Warm words
Festive times
Spent together
In each other's arms
Where only happiness
Can be found
And the safety
You provide
When everything feels scary
And I feel wary
Of every choice I make
You feel right
How to stop
My hands from shaking
My blood from boiling
My thoughts from wandering
To your face, your smile, your embrace
To your scarred hands
Caressing me
As I tremble
How to stop
My mind from pretending
You didn't take your knife
Of self-centered crap
Of idealization of my body
As if I'm nothing else
Than my body
My *******
My ***
And stop myself from forgetting
How the wheels always turn
And come back to the same
How to stop justifying
Your actions
As to not
Lose you
While I
Lose myself
How do people fall out of love?
Sarah Flynn Oct 2020
I’m alright, I promise. You don’t have to worry.

I know that every note I give to you now sparks fear in the pit of your stomach, and you skim over my sentences looking for words like “suicide” and “I’m sorry.”

When I hand you a note, you examine every word. From my handwriting to the ink I use, you take in every detail. You read between the lines now even on a blank sheet of paper, where there aren’t any lines to read between.

Your eyes are trained to spot the differences now. My life has become a game of Clue where you are the only player.

When my voice cracks, even the slightest bit, your ears have been conditioned to tune in immediately. You are constantly scanning for hesitation when I talk. You watch me to see if my hands shake, or if I bite my lip. You are searching for the warning signs that you think you missed last time, even though I never showed any.

They say that when you lose one sense, your other senses grow stronger to compensate. We say that we’ve become so close, but what we mean is that we’ve always been codependent. We did not bond over shared trauma; we bonded over a mutual fear of being alone. Our anxieties have molded into one huge, chaotic mess. Our fears have become so tangled that neither of us know who is afraid of what anymore. The only fear I am certain of is the fear of losing you.

I lost my ability to feel anything, and you developed a sense of hypersensitivity to balance out my numbness. I stopped caring about myself, so you started caring about me even more. You feel too much when I feel nothing.

I know you won’t believe me, but this is not a suicide note. You don’t need to worry about me. I’d promise you, but I’ve broken so many promises that I know they have no meaning anymore.

I cause you pain. There’s no use in denying it; we both know it’s true. I’m not trying to push you away. Even if I did, I know you’d come back. I have been draining your happiness and health slowly. Now, I am trying to rip off this bandaid all at once.

I’d rather you hurt from this revelation of who I really am. I’d rather you hate me for being someone who takes the easy way out, than hurt you by letting you believe that I have the potential to be in love.

I am capable of loving, and maybe I don’t show it the way that I should, but I love you. God, you have no idea how much I love you.

What I am not capable of is trusting. I love you, but I can’t trust you. I have no trust left, not even for myself.

And what is there without trust? Love itself isn’t enough to build a relationship off of. We talk about love as if it is a miracle. In every fairytale, true love is what saves the princess. Love breaks the curse. Love can turn a frog into a prince, a beast into a man. We talk about love as if it cures all. But love isn’t as powerful as we make it sound. You can’t love someone back to life.

I don’t know if I even want to save myself anymore, and you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. I am so grateful for your love, but your love alone is not enough.

I’ve always said I’m a realist; you’ve always said I’m nothing more than a pessimist in disguise. Maybe that’s true, maybe I do see only the negative side of things. But those negatives have kept me safe. I prepare myself for the worst so that I can never be disappointed, only pleasantly surprised. I can never be let down. In a way, I guess we’re both right. Pessimism has been my reality. This numbness has been my reality.

When you’re done reading this note, please tear it up into a thousand tiny pieces. Rip it, crumble it, destroy it. Make it impossible to reread. Please throw it away and don’t dig it back up. Please walk away and don’t look back.

If you turn back around, and if I look into your eyes again, I know that I will not let you leave. I will pull you back to me and let this cycle of destruction begin all over again. I hurt myself, which hurts you, which hurts me. It will not end.

When you go through the photos of us on your phone, please go through them quickly. If you have to delete them, then delete them. Deleting a picture doesn’t delete the memory with it. I know that, but it’s a start. One less photograph is one less reminder of me. One day, when you’re strong enough, maybe you can go back and flip through our old albums. But by the time you are strong enough to live healthily without me, I doubt you’ll still have them saved. One day, you will leave me in the past. It’s hard for me to admit it, but I know that is where I belong.

When you climb into your bed at the end of the night, please do not remember me sleeping next to you. I know how wrong the bed will feel when you get up in the morning and notice that there is no warm spot left on the other side. I know how strange it will be to turn over and not roll into my arms. This loneliness will feel like a foreign language, but please, learn to understand it. The words will eventually feel natural on your tongue, even if it doesn’t happen until your tongue is in the mouth of someone new.

When what used to be our songs play on shuffle, please don’t ruin them with thoughts of me. I want you to be able to hear their lyrics without pain. You deserve to smile when songs begin to play. I don’t want you to have to turn the radio off. You deserve to blast your music loud, and to sing without embarrassment. You deserve someone who will dance with you around the kitchen the way that we did once. You deserve someone who makes you laugh, and who makes you feel loved. Despite what you have made yourself believe, you deserve better than this.

These songs deserve to mark happy occasions, not to bring up bad memories. They deserve to be sung to, not cried over. They deserve to be shared with someone who’d mention their titles to you in love letters, not someone who only writes you suicide notes.
Esther L Krenzin Oct 2020
she wanted me
to change my size for her
like i was an wrong pair of shoes
but it wasn’t me
that didn’t fit
i had outgrown her
a long time ago

Esther L. Krenzin
Ashlyn Yoshida Sep 2020
My love is wrong in the eyes of the sane
to them it seems my love is irrational
possessive, obsessive
chained to my wrists
I suppose it's my fault
I suppose it's all their's
I think I'm forgetting the normal thoughts
and feelings a person is to have
Clinging onto the familiar
and what was thrown at me when
I was younger.
It scares some away
and brings others closer
Insanity goes unnoticed by those inflicted. Don't go on thinking I'm a terrible person for not understanding social constructs the same way as you do.
Syd Aug 2020
Look in the fridge for coke and ice.
A plate of fish slice should suffice.
And two bowls of brown cooked rice.
Eat unhealthy and ignore all advice.
Silly stuff
Gabriel Aug 2020
Ship’s tipping,

children crying,

water lapping

against my feet -

summer-side beach shores

flashing Polaroids

through clasped hands

in false prayer.


atop the bank

rough hands; calloused

 grabbing the rail

 as you hang onto the upper hand.

No longer horizontal,

ripped apart from the domestic bed,

your chants to God

 beg Him to take my life,

 and spare yours –

It’s easier to be the underdog

when everyone else is falling, too;

I am the water,
I wait to lap you up;

please, I ask,

fall onto me

and let me love you to death.

In short, sink.

In shorter, drown.
Something I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in first year of university. The formatting is supposed to make it look as if the poem is tipped up and falling down the page (like the Titanic!) but I'm not sure if that will translate well to this website.
Gabriel Aug 2020
I trust and believe

that the words of others

are truth and law;

we’ve always been standing

on unequal ground here -

forever on this titanic plane.

The crowd of everyone

and the universal singularity:


You say whatever

and I say okay;

I say I’m drowning

and you say

you’re waiting for something

in the water,

to pop up and tip the scales.

When you knock on my flesh

I tear open a door

for you,

let you worm inside

and deposit your truths

under my skin;

let them grow like parasites

within me,

festering in septicaemia.

With my rotting body

like sea-soaked decks

at the bottom of the ocean,

I’m asking you
to validate

the fact that I am becoming 
the decaying waters

and swallowing the boat,
because you made me

this way -
and I?

I am somewhere in the picture, too.
Something I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in first year of university.
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