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 Jul 2018 Blesseur
Jessica Paulin
How does your garden grow?

With don'ts and can'ts,
and dying plants,
And feelings you should not know.

Does it grow too fast,
But never last,
And promise to stay but always go

Have the weeds crept in,
Or have they always been ,
In the places they should not go

Tell me how does your garden grow ?

With can'ts and why's,  
And annoying flys,
And water that does not flow

Tell me why should my garden grow ?

I feed it right ,
Pull weeds from sight,
And all dispite an endless feeling of woe.

Tell me will my garden ever grow?
 Jul 2018 Blesseur
Colm
Quietly justifying
The existence of the other
The lines of his jaw
The turn of her hair
But not in hand
For its beneath the surface
Of the conscious mind
That the search began
And there it will end
There it will end
Just beneath the surface things. Next to the shadow, just to the right.
 Jul 2018 Blesseur
Colm
Fell beings are we
Who delicate our time
Not to those causes which are above us
But to the strength of arms
And the will of the mind
For our own success
Do we see it, whatever IT may be
Though
What small recesses our minds have.
 Jul 2018 Blesseur
nim
Lately
 Jul 2018 Blesseur
nim
Lately, I've been more depressed
Than ever, this feeling
of destruction has been
getting visible over the day,
instead of just at night

Lately, this black hole
Has been swallowing me,
slowly tearing me apart
and I don't know how do deal with it.

I don't feel real
Time passes slowly yet vastly fast
and lately, the thunder's
been scaring me
instead of giving me warm comfort
in the dead silence of my room

the colors don't seem very alive anymore
nothing feels important, to me
...and I don't know
how much longer will it take
before the abyss swallows me whole.

And I mean every single
word that I tell you,
and my every emotion is tangled
and all I'm left with is this mess in wires
so light in my hands,
So easy to throw away

Lately I've been more scared
About death, about existence
And this familiar feeling
Is slowly writing the melody;

A perfect harmony,
Yet so monochrome and monotonous
So devastating, subdoing hope
and lately,

I don't know
What to do
Lately, the things that once
Gave me joy,
Gently swiping though
Pages and pages of books
now
bring nothing
"An impossible dream. Others dream that they are millionaires. I dreamt that a woman loved me."

"Cinderella was not written about the ***** woman."

"They would nod at my empathy and rarely point out that growing up did not mean and never has meant the same thing as getting better."

"Everyday she felt herself losing things it was unacceptable to mourn."

"There was love, and then there was suicide"

"She's the wrong kind of pretty, the kind that's soft but not fragile, the kind that inspires the impulse to touch."
 Jul 2018 Blesseur
Blanket
To a child that has been spoon fed ever since young,
Independence would sound foreign.
Learning and changing gets tougher
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