the last poem i write about my depressioni want you to know that it took me yearsthe last poem i write about my depression by MisfitableGrae
to figure out the worst part. cause, sure, there’s
so many bad parts, there’s so many moments
when dragging air through your mouth feels
like letting in all the water. your body becomes
your own battlefield, your mind—the most
ruthless enemy. it does not cut corners.
it will not spare you. it will leave
no summer-tinted memory untouched.
every exit sign looks like a suggestion.
if you ask someone if they are happy they will say yes
but they will not look you in the eyes.
you will never learn how to feel permanent.
you will drink grape juice and try to remember how it felt
to be holy. you will not think of yourself as wholly,
you are not complete. something vital is missing.
some dark monster has been feasting on you
when you lay down for sleep.
these are bad moments. these are scars that mar your skin
like tattoos that have too much meaning, like a map
of all the dirt roads you’ve walked down.
some days i can
Valentine's Day PM/Points Giveaway!Let's spread the love with a giveaway!Valentine's Day PM/Points Giveaway! by equinepalette
I've got a few points, so I thought I'd share the love!
The winner may choose between a 12 Month Premium Membership, or 2000!
Some people have 'til hell freezes over status, so for those I thought I'd throw in the points option too!
1. Favorite this journal.
That's it! I'll pick one winner from the list of those who favorited on February 14th, 2015.
While you're here, I'd love if you'd take a peek at my gallery and give me a watch if you see something you like, but that's not required!
Good Luck, and Happy Valentine's Day!
kids cut through the middlewhen you spend a summer somewherekids cut through the middle by MindlessThinker
where people squirrel away their
ugly children, it's hard not to notice
the subtle strain of the truth
on certain smarter faces,
or the absolute oblivion
in certain spinning eyes
and stumbling legs.
i met a girl named K,
with ankles like a deer and a voice
loud like noise and swampy like a swamp.
she liked orange foods and big words and
her hands shook like the girls in jazz class.
K clicked her tongue between words sometimes
but nobody ever mentioned it. her socks
were alphabetized. she carried a comb in her back pocket
but only 'cause she needed it, she said.
her hair was turning to snow and falling out,
she said. 'cause she pulled at it too much, she said.
she said other things, too, but i promised
never to write them. i promised not to tell
the bad things she'd done, the boy who kept her in, in, in.
she made bracelets of awful words at night and kept them
under her bed. she did it maybe so that even worse things wouldn't go bad.