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acrimonyi have spent too long loving youlike a store shutting down, slashing my prices,hoping there’s something here you mightwant to buy before i go under.this is not your fault. i was told that lovingdesperately and wholly was light yearsbetter than loving practically, but youhave spent four years loving me like i am a siegeand you are worried that your fortress’s wallsare not high enough. i think i meanthat you love me cautious; you love mecircumstantially.most nights i waste hours not looking at my phoneand trying to remind myself how much i amworth without you by my side. the numbersnever add up. maybe this is becauseyou have never been constant enough to be an equation.look here, i have it on good authoritythat universes exist in my skin and stars have diedso that i could live. stars have died and i havesurvived and you will not be the one to make me wishmy soul was nothing but a black hole.i can’t shake the thought that you are my novel andi am y
GayI am gay.I'm not a disease, I'm not a problemI'm not an afflictionI don't need treatment.I don't need helpI'm not sickI'm not confusedI'm not a sin.I am gay.I'm your daughterYour sisterYour friendYour co workerYour classmateYour acquaintanceA complete strangerI am gay.I need love, just like youI need smilesI need supportI need a hugI need a friendI need a familyI need acceptanceI need understandingI need youI am gay.I know what love isI know what pain isI know what hate isI know what life isI am gay.And I need you to love meThe same way you loved me before you knewI am gay.And I have experienced hateFrom more people than just youI am gay.And I wont change.I wont give up.I wont back down.I wont pretend.I wont lie.I wont deny.I wont hide.I wont hurt.I am gay.And that's okay.
He Wore My Makeup AgainAt least it wasn't a dress this time,but I know that my boyfriendhas something to hide.When I'm not looking, he takes my purse,uses my make up to cover the hurts.Dabs his fingers into my foundation,taps it on his face, with handsas skilled as a physician.The brush he rubs down the angles of his cheek.He should be thankful that he'sthe same complexion as me.I've never seen him with a bare face,whenever he's with me,the make up will stay.At least he hasn't used my lipstickyet, I don't know how I wouldfeel about him adorned in red.And my eye shadow, he seems to leave alone,it seems he uses my make up,just for an even tone.Perhaps he'll progress to using the rest,and then I suppose then, he'll startwearing a dress.I guess it's slow, this painful transition.I just want him to say it,he's already got my attention.I get it he's a cross dresser, he has to be right?Isn't that what men who want tobe women describe themselves like?I think I'll confront him about his f
AlcoholicYour tux is the colorof a coal miner’s faceafter a long, hard day of work-something you’ve neverhad to experienceyet you talk as thoughyou’re just as worn out;your trivial chit-chatis turning syrupy with every sip,although your sentencesaren’t getting any sweeteryou grab another glassof the effervescent liquid,hoping the sea of peoplewill turn to black coal,and it will be dark enoughfor you to fall asleepas you walk tipsily to the bathroom,the overpaid opera singerbelts her last high note- a bit too high;your crystal glass shattersinto a thousand piecesAnd with it, you shatter too.
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondlyof passions and talents,of guitars and stars,with such breathless intensitythen stops short andapologisesfor speaking at all.All because somewhere in her life,someone she loved broke her heartby ignoringher beautiful wordsand telling her toshut up,keep it down,nobody cares.People aren’t born sad.We make them that way.
It Was Never You...It really wasn't...And I know that I can twist this truth as much as I want...Whenever I'm sober, when I know I can put up that fake plastic smile;Just a few formal words that burn like acid from a liar's lips!"Differences in personality, a divergence in ideals..."Please, fucking, SPARE ME!Because when I look in this mirror, I know.When I see myself looking back at me, I know.Right here, right in front of my own blackened self;Those eyes that both reflect and stare into my dingy soul.I was the problem.I was the instigator.I was the perpetrator.And when I had broken every last bit of her,I was the one, who let it all fall to pieces.So please, you don't have to feel sorry for me,I am a bastard and I've got a very special place in hell waiting for me...- Word of Chen, Darkest Hour, 16th February 2015
things to take to college1. between the two of us, we have eaten milesof pavement, we have spent months pressingthe same four wheels into the ground.whenever you need to, follow those tracks again.they will lead you back home.2. there are songs i only figured out how to singwith you beside me. even now, the wordssound awkward in my throat.the notes are wrong. i’m not sure what makessomething sacred, but words like thati only know how to sing with a quietreverence i can’t seem to find anymore.3. i am good at writing poems that convincepeople to stay. i don’t know how to writea poem to someone that i know is going to leaveno matter what i say.4. you have faith in spades. and i’m not talking aboutgod. i’m talking about that tangible faith inhumanity, the faith that always makes youask me how my day was, even if the answeris always the same.5. to be truthful, i don’t want you to stay.some people are made for the great unknown.6. we have watched more sunset
I won't cryyou can ask me how I am.that's okay I won't cryI don't know how I am, I can't correctly describe it.Other than to say there's a constant ache in my chestand a tightness in my throat,with swelled up emotions sitting somewhere at the back of my eyes.You should be careful what you saybut then I can't even explain what triggers these feelingsso say what you like,I'll just react in which ever way,cos I have no controll now.The way I feel everyday, has become so familiar to me,since I lost him.Sometimes it's so hard to bear,the constant ache in my chest threatens to crush meIt's hard to breath.The tightness im my throat burns,I want to wail out loud my inarticulate utterances of griefand release all my pent up emotions.But don't worry you can ask me how I am.It's okay, I won't cry.Written by Suzanne karbach21st may 2015
Soldier BoyOne day he came home,A man given freedom.He looked in the mirror,And liked what he saw...The days wore on,And he lived his life.Morning PT was a distant memory,So too were the shouts of a Sergeant.Training came thrice at first,Then twice, then once,Then none...The days wore on...And life became harder,Sacrifices were made.He looked in the mirror one day,And didn't like what he saw.Not anymore...Not the pot-bellied man working for a few scraps.Nor the slovenly fellow who'd forgotten how to clean his kit.He earned his freedom, but he had lost what he respected...And the days wore on...And so he went out running, one fateful day,His lungs burning with every breath.Yet despite the pain inside his chest, He resolved the soldier, would return to his best."You've been gone a long time Corporal Chen, what say we go once more around the yard!"-Word of Chen, One-shot, 24 February