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Suicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness

Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
Just another acrostic. I tried to make the ending positive but I'm not sure it came out that well...
Enjoy it, people.
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oh, these writers never speak; they
claw words out of bird carcasses,
poets pecking viscera like necropolitans.
they count their ribs to remind you
of a corpse or of a matchstick. dry bones
between fissured wrists & funeral pyres,
these have been dying days &
they're all mortuaries.
never really happy with anything i write, ugh.
--
to fix fix fix myself
or break these bones
& breathe
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I have a tired weak mind thats lost
Would do anything to know the truth at any cost
I have a troubled mind that is in the dark
Would do anything to find a spark
I have a terrified heart that cries
Of tears invisible to any eyes
I have a heart that caries a love that would never die
A love so strong that lifts me up to fly
A love so beautiful that brings tears from my eyes
I have a heart that aches yet melts at the sound of your name
A heart that no matter what amount of pain it holds it's love will stay the same
My heart isn't lost It knows the truth
While my mind struggles to escape the painful claws of the lies
I might have lost my insanity
I might have forgotten my identity
But I swear to you
My love for you still and will always remain
well i wrote this when I was struggling with my illness and was in love (once upon a time). U start to lose focus on who you are when ur struggling with your self but the love you hold for people is still the same. 
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You scraped
unbreakable vows to the dead
into red bricks and tile floors
with jagged fingernails,
huffing snarls at the moon
to hide the noise
of your grief.

When the sun peaked
outside time-dusted windows,
you locked yourself away
and left me surrounded
by silence.

Loss was heavy
on my shoulders,
a corset tight around my ribs,
closest to noon;
I spent my days
silhouetting your words
with numb fingers
and a tongue tied with screams,
wondering where--
if at all--
I was buried.
:iconglory-be-project:
:iconallpoetryisgolden:'s 100 Themes Challenge

Day 005 -- Unbreakable

But bricks and tile floors
get worn down with time.

August 29th, 2014
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Last week I was shopping round for skinny jeans,
And these girls I don't know started gettin' real mean,
Callin' me names like twig and stick,
Getting in my face and acting like pricks,
Cuddlin' a stack of fashion magazine's,
They must be gettin' sick of the modelling scene,
Cause girl's their size aren't always represented,
They see women like me and take out their resentment,
My thin waist is all that they see,
When will they realize it doesn't represent me,
When you call me tiny, You make me feel small,
An' you shouldn't be talkin' bout my weight at all,
Maybe I'm not skinny by choice, maybe I'm ill,
And If my health can't destroy me then I guess that you will,
Cause if you're a big girl, then baby you're beautiful,
But if you were born small then you're just pitiful,
And the media is all people talk about,
Saying thin waists are all their fault,
And they give the impression,
Of big women in oppression,
You would never get away with calling a girl fat,
But declaring her a skinny bitch, you can get away with that,
And I see my friends going on ice cream diets,
Gettin' sick off of sugar but of course they still try it,
They're wasting their health for a waistline,
You say skinny is in, but you're lying,
I been stuffin' up my face tryin' to gain weight,
Eatin' so much chocolate I'll soon be diabetic,
And you have the nerve to call me anorexic,
If weight gain was easy my clothes wouldn't be loose,
And this tiny body is like wearing a noose,
If I get too sick I have no weight to lose,
I'd shrivel up and my bones would show through,
But I would never get any sympathy from you,
I'm bruising easy without muscle mass,
And I don't look sexy without an ass,
But that's no reason for you to call me names,
It's only yourselves that you shame,
Talking about XS in a negative light,
If I was XL you'd know it's not right,
So why should I even dignify you with an answer,
I'll just turn on my heel and walk out of here,
But don't you think for a second that my silence,
Is some form of passive acceptance,
What you're doing is wrong.
I got really frustrated because people were insulting my weight. Because I'm skinny it's socially acceptable to do that but if I was big then it wouldn't be and I don't understand why people can't just mind their own dang business.

Feel free to follow or message me on Twitter: twitter.com/KaitlinGulstad

©
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once there was a girl
a girl the age of six
she was adopted by a loving family

but she had a secret

she could understand whale song.

one day the girl and her mother were at the aquarium
and they were visiting the whale exhibit

and the girl was clearly upset and the mother asked what was wrong
the girl sniffled and looked up at her mother
and said

the whales are crying.

the mother laughed and patted her on the head and told her that was silly they're just singing
but the girl shook her head and proceeded to explain

they're crying because they're sad
they're sad because they want to go home.

just like me.
just a little something i thought of
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with a quicksilver silver of a smile,
she finally lets go
as the beat of the music
mirrors her pounding heart.
strobe lights and singing teenagers
mix with fog to overwhelm the senses
but she's never felt quite so clear.
she's been ditched by someone she calls a friend and
is hanging with girls who never remember her name,
but it's somehow okay because
it isn't like the night will last longer than
a few hours (and she's gonna be happy,
dammit, because the lights are low and
she can dance without worrying what they'll think.)
people describe eyelashes casting shadows
on cheekbones but really, her night isn't about
those quiet moments at two in the morning,
that she remembers in moments of vulnerability;
her night is about forgetting to be afraid
and learning how to just live.
I went to the 4-H dance on the last night of the 4-H encampment at the state fair and it was pretty much my first dance and I think... I think I felt truly sixteen for the first time... it was somehow freeing, just for those couple of hours, and when I went to bed and dreamed of things I miss, it didn't hurt quite so badly; it felt like, somehow, in the end, it will work out and be okay... somehow...
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A study in obsession
with things we couldn't touch,
we lurked just inside the shadows
the school awning lent us
and watched the sun rise.

The mornings
after a full moon
were always easiest for you;
you told me stories
with almost-relaxed hands
as your tongue
curled around words
like I could respond,
like you didn't leave me mute
when you left me bleeding.

One small dandelion bloomed
just past the edge of the stoop
and you,
with a grin
that was mostly human,
plucked it before the sun peaked
and tucked it
into the tangles of my hair.

I learned that morning,
with your palm cold
against my cheek,
that you weren't only 
made up of nightmares--

that I wasn't only
made up of numb skin.
:iconglory-be-project:
:iconallpoetryisgolden:'s 100 Themes Challenge

Day 006 -- Obsession

I learned that morning
to see you a little bit differently.

August 30th, 2014
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