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It was four o'clock in the morning. Robert wondered why his name was Robert. He decided to get rid of the "Bert" because it was the name of a Sesame Street character or the name of a ******* in Tempe, Arizona. Then again, he thought, "Hey, just Rob makes me sound like I change tires for a living or that I work out at a gym that discriminates fat people and blacks." Rob or Robert took a second to evaluate his last thought and if thinking "and blacks" made him a racist person.

Robert sat on a bench and wondered if the woman beside him was expecting Forest Gump-esque wisdom.

Robert thought of a friend he had in grade eight, named Alexander. He thought of how Alexander had a glass eye. Robert wondered how Alexander had a glass eye but could not remember or did not know why Alexander had a glass eye. Robert, then, concluded that sometimes he will not know something and how that is okay because most people don't know anything--it's a collection of approximates that stay in our heads, he thought. Robert asked himself if his last thought made him intelligent or dumb and pretentious. Robert decided that he did not know. How meta, he thought. Robert, then, decided to stop using the word "meta" so much, because it made him feel like a professor with bitterness and something to prove.

Robert watched his sister struggle with an eating disorder. She was in a hospital bed, with an IV in her arm. Robert did not know if he would struggle with anything as hard as his sister struggled with anorexia. Robert, then, had intense but fleeting anger at every person that bragged about being anorexic or made it seem cool.

Robert sat on his toilet and wondered what his true identity was and what his true nature was. He wondered what was inherent and what was synthetic. Robert, then, wondered if a synthetic personality was inherent. Robert asked himself if he was a good person. He wasn't sure if sitting on the toilet, in his grandmother's house, and ******* to interracial ebony teen ****, on his iPhone, made him a good person or not. His concerns soon past, though, as soon as Lauren started to **** the pizza guy's white ****.

Robert walked down the street and was contemplating some of the issues that plagued his ****-infested mind, while he was on the toilet. Robert saw a girl running from a guy. Robert asked himself if he was a hero or inherently good. Robert, then, concluded that he was inherently a coward, since he did nothing and hoped that somebody else would save her.

Robert didn't meet a girl and knew that no one would write prose about his meeting a girl and their mutual love for one another. Robert was eating a steak sub, while thinking this.

Robert returned to the hospital, to pick up his sister. On the way home, his sister talked about how attractive her nurse was. Robert asked, "What did he look like?" His sister, then, said, "It wasn't a he. My nurse was a girl." Robert was okay with his sister being attracted to girls, but hoped that she didn't get more than him or more attractive girls than him, because, for some reason, that would make him feel insecure. Robert decided to stop eating so many steak subs and to work out. Robert asked his sister if she wanted to get steak subs. She said, "sure".

Robert was working out in his basement. He heard the sound of retching, upstairs. Robert followed the sound of the vomiting and opened a bathroom door. He saw his sister stick her finger down her throat. He said to his sister, "That isn't anorexia." His sister said, "I know. There's a lot you don't know about me." Robert said, "I'm sorry."
heather leather Apr 2015
i like the feel of your hand in my and chipped
nail polish because you always make fun of me for
it and the way you smile at me then, like
you're trying so hard not to laugh
fills me with a kind of eternal happiness that
i crave and maybe that's why i like writing
your name on my hand because it reminds
me of sumshowers and accidental kisses-
it reminds me of hide and seek in the rain and bear hugs
and the ever changing color of your braces,
it reminds me of central park and late night
conversations and coffee and indigo and music and
snowball fights and wildflowers and--
you
writing your name on my hand makes me happy
because it reminds me of all the memories
i have with you and it wills me to make even more
until then though, i'll just keep writing your name on my hand
(h.l.)
"i like the summer rain, i like the sounds you make, we put the world away we get so disconnected," - Disconnected, 5 Seconds of Summer
heather leather Apr 2015
some people don't believe in ghosts,
but i am not one of those people,
because you are a ghost
in every sense of the word
//
whenever i close my eyes, i
do not see black anymore instead i see
your body strung up in your closet
with your eyes closed, as if you were at rest
i don’t know where you are but hopefully you
are getting some rest because i am
tearing myself apart because it doesn’t seem like
you’re gone
the curtains they’re half opened just like you left it
the kitchen is still a mess
the coffee stain that you promised to clean up but didn’t
is still there and i swear when i close my eyes and then
put my head on your pillow i can still hear
your even breath against my neck
and those are the only nights i ever get any sleep
so excuse me for thinking you’re not gone
because in my mind you aren’t
you’re still there next to me on the coach
and you are still complaining about how unrealistic everything is;
you are still next to me and i know that because i am telling you to
shut up, shut up, shut up
my therapist says that it’s my brain’s way of
coping with pain but that doesn’t make any sense to me
because my heart is still beating
and if my brain really wanted to cope with pain it would
shut down, it would collapse; like your body did when
it couldn’t handle the pain
because let me tell you something: i can’t handle this pain
this never ending torture of dancing delicately around the fact that
you are dead and i am very well alive even though
i don’t want to be, even though my hands have no purpose
without holding yours, my arms
nothing but useless props anymore and that is why
you are very well alive in
my mind because if you weren't i know that i would collapse


some people don't believe in ghosts,
but i am not one of those people,
because you are a ghost
in every sense of the word.


(h.l.)
the first stanza and the last are from unwritten's poem "ghost" and it's amazing. i highly encourage you all to read it
heather leather Apr 2015
when you listen to birds sing,
and you witness the fragility of every movement
they make, maybe then you can see her
because she walks exactly like birds sing,
so delicately-
almost like she's afraid
to break something when in reality,
she's so easy to break because she was the twig
that you so easily snap time and time
again and her body is made up of so many angles
that she could be a mathematical equation,
she wishes every night that she can become a
mathematical equation because maybe then
her problems can be easy to solve,
maybe if she found x,
she could also find herself
because she had lost who she was that one night
where her clothes hung her too loosely and the
mirror made her out to be some sort of monster,
and for a second when she first looked at the mirror,
she was scared of herself
so she hid between little white lies and masterly crafted
excuses, she carved the word pretty in her head and it repeated
itself constantly in her mind like a mantra because
some small part of her believed that maybe if she
repeated it enough, she could stop being so ugly
and start being beautiful
//
maybe then she could find out how to stop being
as frail as the same twigs you so easily break without noticing
//
when you hear the birds sing, and you snap the twigs
that you found on the street, that is the only moment
when you can truly see her, a broken shard of glass as
thin as ever-melting ice and as breakable as the leaves that
surround twigs
(h.l.)
short very bad poem on anorexia
heather leather Apr 2015
when i first met you i was shy and still wore
pink and had an uncanny obsession with
sweaters and you had smiled at me so warmly that
i couldn't help but have smiled back because
you looked so happy
//
when i first realized i was in love with you it was
a warm july sun and a humid air and you were
laughing as i rambled on about a book
that i can't remember the title of but
god, i had never thought that people could look beautiful
under the horizon because the sky was too distracting
but on that particular day, i'm sure the horizon was jealous
of how light your hazel eyes looked and how deep your dimples were
i laid awake that night, thinking about your smile
and how happy it made me, and how terribly bittersweet
this was going to be
//
when i look at you know, i do not see the sun-kissed
boy with laughter in his eyes and a permanent smile on
his cheeks, i see a shadow of the boy i used to love and
sometimes i wonder if i should care at all that you're sad, because
you never seem to care when i am, though i suppose that is what
love is itself, loving somebody so unconditionally that
even when they laugh and mock you, you would still cry with them
the very next day
//
although then again, i'm sure you don't know what love is
this is very bad. and raw. and unedited and the start of a series of poems where the title is a lyric in a song, this one is I Miss You by blink 182
  Apr 2015 heather leather
Riot
i waited for you to see it
i waited for you to care
i waited at your doorstep
to find that you weren't there

i waited for you to hear me
in the deepest parts of my soul
while you waited for me to speak
i waited for you to say so

i waited for you to notice
the smile i'd always fake
i waited for you to see it
i waited til i'd fade

i waited for years and years
for you to look through my lies
i waited for you to see it
everything i'd hide in my eyes

i waited for you to see it
i waited for you to care
i waited at your doorstep
*and found that you moved somewhere
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