When they leave

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When they leave you, don’t keep fragments of them in your purse.

Take out the old train tickets from journeys to see each other,

and take out the old receipts from your round of drinks together in dark little pubs.

Don’t let their forgotten jacket linger in your wardrobe,

and don’t let the old pair of trainers they left on your shoe rack catch dust.

Don’t you dare wear their stray t-shirts at night, convincing yourself its just for a moment — to reminisce.

Don’t hold on to the memory of their kisses, or the tender way they spoke your name like butterflies.

Let your heart only sometimes ache with the bittersweet pang of the end.

Know that you’re better for it,

happier for it,

wiser for it,

and anchored to nothing else but your own self and your own freedom.

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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

Toxic

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You’re the furthest thing from any form of knight in shining armour
In actuality I’ve already found mine
But I am captivated by the vigour of your free spiritedness
Somewhat consumed by the brooding of your aura
I am addicted to the way in which its easy
and the way that nothing ever needs to be said
I am captivated by our relationship of metaphors
Stimulated by the subtext of our blunt conversation
Deep ocean blue eyes that suppress everlasting adoration
Mischievous smirks that speak a world of sharp truthfulness
Truthfulness that should never be spoken
I am entranced by the shameless way you talk it anyway
And the shameful way you know it

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.