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Artis 17h
I want to peel back your skin
and show off all the layers no one gets to see
I want to crawl inside your skin,
and be that layer—
you never thought,
you needed.

I'll add new layers
that make your skin soft.

maybe then I will understand—
why your skin is so roughly made,
burnt from all the thorns of the world
stepped on and left marks that never seemed to heal.

but you still dont show it, do you?

what’s hiding in those layers of
fake happiness,
pain,
misery?

How do we cut off all the dead skin
make you blossom—
into new skin, that doesn’t cut you with every touch?
Sometimes we carry skin, thats too rough for us to get rid of alone 🥀
I tend to forget that my parents were children once.
That like me, they had goals and ambitions and dreams
far larger than themselves once.
That they too heard the oh so familiar,
“Get good grades, work hard and no relationships until
18” once.

I tend to forget that my parents were children once.
They too were bound by rules and regulations
that did not fit their expectations of their idea of
freedom and self preservation.

I tend to forget that my parents were children once.
That they too faced abuse, violence and
toxic environments that shaped them.
And like me, all they wanted was a way out
from the one place they called home.

I tend to forget that my parents were children once,
so before i go and get all belligerent,
and blame them for the trauma and depression,
I should remember that they too had their innocence
stripped from them and like me,

They were children once.
Shane 1d
I fear a ghost has taken hold of me;
I feel its presence when I tend to wake
From eerie dreams that blur reality,
A haunting feeling that I cannot shake.
It steals from me the things I once enjoyed,
And leaves an empty feeling in their place,
As if my life were something to be toyed,
Then left alone and broken in its case.
I'm at the mercy of an angry kid
Who died alone, afraid and far too young.
Too scared to face his fears, he only hid,
And choked upon the words stuck on his tongue.
Shackled to him, I try but can't escape;
To bear the burden of his sins, my fate.
Mariah 1d
No real wonder
How I got it
The skeleton
In my closet
I felt left out
So I bought it
If you don't have trauma, store bought is fine.
ten years,
too late.

ten years—

and there's
no debate:

i will do
everything

to not be

like you.

i'm no saint,

but i know
when enough
is enough

and to draw
a line,

before it's
too late.

people come
and people go;

and i've come
to terms with
forgiving

and letting
go.

but in the midst of
it all, i hope
to be better

than to
risk it all.

because impressions
are forever,

and

i've learned
to forgive you
and move past it

rather than fall.
some legacies are meant to end. this isn't anger. this is release.
The weighted blanket,
I wasn't meant to carry,
layer after layer,
of burned threads,
leaving stains where they are,
for it wasn't made for my bed.
I wrote this poem about burdens, traumas, life events, that occur in each of our lives that weren't ours, but somehow or for some reason, fell on us to be responsible for or to take on its identity.
Wyper 2d
I walk into your spine—hoping to find reverence but there's only **** where there should be bone.
Thoracic—cervical—clivux that does nothing but bend with uncertainty.
I press my fingers in and they sink. Deeper and deeper and deeper until they reach something firm.
When I pull there's rotting.
It runs down my hand and under my nails and collects around my shirt sleeve. I hold on and it grins like it knows.
Shivering will do you nothing.
You will still keep bending for the wrong things and worst of all; everyone will believe that's how you're meant to be.
After conscription to endure
                              One outing
I’ve no heart or smile for a new
                                  Bon voyage

You have no heart or smile
                                           Came a reply

Is this truly what you think
Is this what I have become
A person sober and grey
Without appetite
                            For life
Perhaps Iv'e forgotten it's taste
Perhaps I am anorexic
Perhaps your right

                         Perhaps I’m tarnished
                         Perhaps I never forget
Perhaps the poppies will cease to whisper
Impossible for me to imagine the horror of war..
But having a go, this is how I may have responded after serving and surviving WW1 only to be faced with prospect of doing it all over again in WW2. Last British soldier to serve in both wars past away in 2009 - Respect love and light
ki 3d
Drowning in your sorrows
Does it not make your heart feel hollow?
That feeling of emptiness once you finish that bottle and now your thoughts are more awful.
Your words bite me but yeah your message has been received.
Your tongue becomes toxic and your venom is making me grieve
Grieving for the mother that went astray, I wished the old you could've had stayed.
That sweet soul that is now out of control; now your heart is made out of coal.
Your eyes burn through mine as you scream and cry,  while you wait for me to give you a reply.
I have nothing to say except
I wish I didn't have to see my mother this way.
This piece reflects the pain of watching a loved one, especially a mother, spiral into a version of themselves that feels unrecognizable. It captures the grief of losing someone emotionally while they are still physically present. “Mothers Lost” explores themes of addiction, emotional absence, and the silent mourning that comes with watching someone you love change beyond recognition. It’s a letter of love, loss, and longing.
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