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Literature Text
- i don't love you.
or - maybe i do.
i don't know anymore.
i've heard it said that love and hate are so close together,
you can't tell them apart.
and i read once - we both did -
that in the moment of killing someone besides yourself with hatred in your bones,
you love them.
so you must have loved me,
then.
i did.
and so you tore and tore
and my heart healed after years around a wound shaped like
the teeth that cut it open. i will bear this
mark of you until i am
old and gray;
i will pass down the stories of how to know
who and who not to lay trust into;
i will teach the children of my children how to tell a broken heart from one that is so very, very cold.
i was willing to forgive the feel of ice among my bones once --
not twice, nor thrice,
nor everything in between. you were like a drug.
you killing me over and over again
was the rehabilitation i needed to show me that
i am stronger than what you have made of me.
i loved you, once.
i did.
but now it's shifted over that oh-so-very-thin line to hatred,
and i'm not going to cross back over.
you can cast me your broken smiles,
shattered eyes all you want; my feet are planted firmly
in the roots of what i believe in.
i do not believe in you,
not anymore. you no longer reside in my soul
where you once held court for so
very long, and i'm not sorry, i am angry --
you are no longer here to decide your own fate,
not even your voice,
so pack your piles of pieces of you from the corners of my conscience and leave.
a brain will not replace its lost cells;
the imprint you left upon my memories will be there
for an infinitely finite lifespan.
you have shaped me - quite literally -
into what i am today, and i love and hate it
in the same way i love you and hate you.
you are a part of me, but i want to break free.
i am ready to forget.
Literature
dear self,
don't
even
try
it.
i'll get all
poetic
with you, since you
despise to listen;
stop chasing boys who
don't even like you;
they don't like
girls, not at this age;
stop thinking you
know how the world works,
you aren't a
c
i r
c l
e
of genius in radical
magnitudes; you're (fucking)
crazy, i'll give you that,
and you know how to get what
you want, but it doesn't make
you queen of saigon
(you'll have to wait a few years
until then)
you will learn the
definition of love when you're
introduced to danger and
black leather boys with caramel
skin and slick hair and everything
you thought was "idiotic" when you
were four;
y
Literature
dear depression,
(master of the umbra)
i hate you.
broken whispers, lonely promises,
you are the worst of lovers, owning all, but
never seeming to be satisfied
even with your name branded scarlet into my wrists.
i am no longer the golden songbird as when you first met me,
but yet
you still hang onto me
your claws
raking across my heart like
my pen ripping across the bloodstained page, like
lightning across the skies, (vengeance
raining down from the gods i used to believe in)
"don't let them catch you,"
you breathed into my ears.
an ounce of life, in exchange for a cloak of darkness (i thought i'd only stay one night)
the fog was sluggish and deep.
so bl
Literature
to be discontinued
your hands are too small.
they always slip through the cracks in your fingers,
the ones you love,
you just can't keep the together.
but your thighs are too wide,
spacious, filled with crevices that line
like roads on a map.
you are not able to part to let anyone in.
canyons.
sometimes you feel like empty space.
eyes like stars - dead but
still shining.
what if galaxies are just people
who couldn't find their dreams in the sea
of smoke; wow, that's a lot of
failures.
& other times you feel like streets,
worn away by the tires of people who just
don't give a shit about you.
they just run you over because it's easy &
they don't have tim
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I'm crying. This is amazing.