They don’t know

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I hate them,
I hate them because I lose who I am when I’m around them
I forget the person I fought hard to become and embrace
I forget my strength, I forget my voice, I forget the power of my wisdom and the rationality of my mind
I am small and powerless, a victim of nonchalance and subconscious belittling
A product of self-motivated educational brilliance, and nothing else
They don’t know that I was exceptional, because I was never free enough to be anything less
They don’t know that I stopped striving for perfection because it filled my body with dread. It ruined me
And it still ruins me, and I’m lost and hurting and hungry for some release, hungry for danger and power and control because I’m dying to be someone else
I die to be someone else whenever they’re close, as though their auras were made of my own personalised happiness repellant
And they kill me with the kind of affection that my heart can’t understand
They kill me because I’m too different and sometimes too alone because of it
They kill me because just BEING aches with them, it hurts,
the feeling of being alien hurts
every time I leave im mad and sad and bitter and the tiniest bit more broken than the last time
Every time I leave I know I’ll need days to recover
I know I’ll need nights of toxicity
Loving, toxicity,
To filter the madness, soften the anger, lessen the hurt,
turn my blood back to red ink
Instead of salt water tears

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Some days

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Some days I’m barely making it out on my own two feet.
I’m gliding on fear and confusion,
grappling on the ledge of desperation –
Desperation and despair
Some days I’m deafened by the pounding
of my heart, and the rush
of blood in my ears. F e a r.
Some days I’m blinded by the dryness of my eyes. The
greyness of my vision. The bleakness of my mornings,
in-betweens, and nights.
alone again.
I’m weary of life. Weary of consistent living. Weary
of my comfort in nothingness.

Steadfast

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Is it not enough
that I have the ghost of your touch
lingering on my skin?
That the tips of my fingers still tingle
with the echo of your stubbly cheek,
every time I breathe your name?
That the memory of your hands
still makes me stroke my cheek and
the memory of your eyes are still branded in my soul?
Is it not enough
that your shadow lays beside me
when on Siberian nights I finally
coax myself to sleep?
That your laugh still echoes inside
my walls like Dorothy’s cruel tornado.
I am cursed to feel your presence
in the place I called my haven.
I had let you into paradise,
my cool, tattered paradise.
I had you dreaming of my sheets, and the innocence of my glare –
I took you homeless took you hungry,
Gave you shelter and caresses
Gave you purpose showed you hope
from the chest of my affection.
Is it not enough
that all I wanted was redemption
yet I’m haunted by demons –
your steadfast footsteps.

Escapisms

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I’ve found too many forms
of escapisms in my lifetime
I’ve discovered that the best thing
that I sometimes know how to do is
run
– occasionally with my head over my shoulder long enough to trip me up and drag me back to the source of my
so called problems.
And so I keep myself running
find solace in alcohol
a wonderland in cigarettes
and a place far, far far away in poison
until
the end of the night
when
I’m curled up
when
the thumping bass’s gone
when
I’m alone again
when
I come to remember that
I can never escape for long enough,
I can never escape far enough,
to get away from myself.

warm. ready, loving. waiting.

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I’d not heard your voice in a while

a few days maybe

I’m not too sure maybe

But i remember when i called you last;

I masked the tears on my face by strengthening my cracking voice.

You were so far away, and i needed you

i needed the scent of your skin, the warmth of your hands,

I needed the sound of your voice, the security of your arms

because i was scared

and it was one of those days where the pessimism cut me so deep nothing could yank me out. nothing but your smile and your hair in my hands as i held on to you tight

I was scared. that my heart was breaking again, breaking prematurely, in preparation for worst case scenarios spinning out of control in my mind

so I called you that night. I called you.

I heard you,

i heard you like i hear you now.

warm. ready, loving. waiting.

I Wish

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I wish I was a romantic

I wish that I could soak up the blind hope

that shines in your eyes when you look at me.

As though simple was as simple says

and real life didn’t mean that we could have to face a lot of fucked up challenges.

I wish that my heart wasn’t built on tough and bitter

That my eyes hadn’t become desensitized to lies and shitty attempts at love

That I grew up knowing what real love was and wasn’t scarred and damn near terrified to try it.

I make it harder than it probably should be

Because hard is the only way it makes sense to me

I am shaken by the ease of us

like the backwards person that I am.

But I do wish,

I sometimes wish, that I could sit here,

in front of you for a moment,

and pretend that we could get through it all,

easy.