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Im so sorry
I said I'd stop
I lied.
I said never again
I lied
I didn't mean to
I wasn't thinking
It was to much
Im sorry
A broken artist doesn't **** you in their mind,
Doesn't rip the pictures apart, wishing it was you, no.
A broken artist will let you live forever,
As the worst of the worst punishments.

They might make you an entire new person,
Let you into their world,
In their notebook
Or canvas.

You'll be cared about
As equally as despised.
For them to tell you one day,
"This character was based off of you".
I often base my characterss off real people, mostly the bad ones. For example, a character based off my stepfather plays a giant role in the story, it's pretty well written but it's also one of my most hated characters.
is it curious that we spare our souls
through poetry,
but remain closed books to our "family"?!
Poetry has been a healing tool, helping me make sense of what was hidden in me for many years and remains hidden, even though I am still, unaware.

Family can mean any community that we are a part of.
i have to be smaller
i am too big
these people
their words keep repeating in my head
hahaha, she's so light!
ugh, why are you eating so much?
do you know how lucky you are to be light?

i
have
to
be
smaller
She held a conversation with the cracks in the ceiling,
called them sisters, called them home.
They answered back in whispers
of storms she never asked for.
A thousand tiny earthquakes
under her paper-thin skin.

Her hands were maps to nowhere,
veins like rivers running dry.
She carried every "I'm fine"
like a brick in her chest,
a cathedral of lies built from silence
and the prayers no one heard.

She danced on shards of herself—
sharp edges, aching heels,
the broken girl waltzing with the ghost
of who she used to be.
Each step a soundless scream,
each cut a hymn to the hollow.

And when she shattered,
it wasn’t like the movies—
no slow motion, no violins,
just the raw crack of a soul
splitting open,
a kaleidoscope of pain
spilling into the dark.

The wind gathered her pieces,
spinning them into stars,
while the moon wept softly
for the girl who gave her light
away.
I'm your poet, I'm your pain
I'm your forever never was
In the black chill lake
Right at moonlight
Listen as I hide my scream
Dressed as a ballad.

I'm your sculptor, I'm your sanity
I'm your always and forever
Colorless hallucinations
A nostalgia induced sight
Hold me gently in a second
Then vanish before I wake up

I'm your painter, I'm your dream
I'm your never looking back
Blinding lights of evermore
Baggy jeans and icy grins
Baby we were an eclipse
Ephemeral like my wish.
boundless trust erupts,
naïve like a child’s bright gaze—
chaos whispers loud.

choices carved in haste,
fragile bridges left to burn—
echoes haunt the heart.
Although mania brings with it joy energy and hope it also comes with haste bad decisions. I tend to be too naive and unpredictable.
words
          flow
                out
                     of my mouth
                                           like droplets
             falling
out                          
                   of
                                         the
          air


falling
f a l l i n g
                                   further
                apart

never
together
again
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