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Similar Deviations
it isn't like i'm
lazy or anything it's just that
the thought of getting lost
in a crowd of ten or more people
makes me want to puke.

this is not just some
stupid little hang-up that you can
joke about when i'm
digging my fingernails into my palm so
hard that blood is drawn as we walk through
school hallways so packed that it feels
like we're suffocating from too much
oxygen but i just grit my teeth and
laugh "yeah, i know, i just don't like
being around people sometimes."

but you know,
there's just something about the way
my mother says "go out and have a life
and stop looking like the world
betrays you every day"
that makes my stomach drop
or when my dad looks at me and just
sighs, like they've finally realized
i was never good enough to be
their daughter.

and to everyone who believes that
i just need to relax,
to just calm down and think:
fuck you. fuck you for trying to pretend
like you know how it feels when my
bones grind together like broken
gears as i walk by people who may
or may not know me or why i'm always the loudest one
of my friends when we're alone or why i
have to read over my text messages four times before
i can make sure it's all acceptable to send.

fuck you,
because it's all
just to hide the fact that
i am absolutely terrified of what tomorrow
will bring and how i'm probably
burdening everyone around me with my
mere presence and how
i have to be perfect,
i have to focus on others' problems and
not my own, i have to forget that i'm
sad for no apparent reason, i have to
not panic when customers ask how my day is
going, i have to pretend that i don't
want to just close my eyes
and live like i'm dying.
yeah sorry i told myself i'd write happier things but i just need to get this out i'm tired of feeling this way and being unable to explain it to those close to me and i'm sorry i'm a horrible friend and a worthless daughter i'm sorry i can't think of a good title sorry sorry sorry sorry
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you are
only human.

There is no such
thing as stardust
floating in your veins or
gloomy poetry stitched
right into your heart.

Your blood is made of
iron - unbreakable,
unbending and unmatched
by any other stronghold,
for you are a fortress
that they will never invade.

Stand up,
wipe those tears away
and know that
you are the only one
who can reinforce these walls.
I've been having too many bad days in a row lately so basically this is just me trying to tell myself to buck up and keep on moving.

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there are too
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
you know that i'm still waiting
for a reply to that one
email about the world's
best puns because fuck,
there's a stubborn part
of me that still refuses to
believe that you're gone.
I really can't.

So this is just words strung together as I think about you.

I miss you.

I wish I could have been there.

I know I should try to forget but I just need to write this for you.

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Act like you're not
okay when you are and
that you are when you're
not. Run barefoot in
the snow. Stand out
in the rain for an hour
and think about anything
and everything you can.

Fall in love with
riddles and things that
aren't real and the
way some stars
shine. Cry when
you realize that life is
just one big sham and write
one hundred cliché poems
about it, and then write one
that you actually mean.

Use profanity. Be the
one fucking introvert
in a room full of
extroverts and scream
shit just for the fun of
it. Swallow every goddamn
metaphor you ever dreamed
of and write them down
with your own blood.

Eulogize your own
misery. Put a crown on
it and let it rule your
heart for six years before
you throw a coup d'etat
but just end up with
your head in a basket.

Ask yourself why
you feel so
empty and when
you forgot how to
laugh and where you
last left your smile and
who you even really are
anymore. Mean every word.

Don't cry at funerals. Cry
yourself to sleep every
other night for the
way you never felt right;
for the inescapable process
of growing up and how
you don't think you'll
ever be loved enough
to feel whole again. Forget
it all the next day.

Write it down. Write how
you don't know if you
believe in God and the
way no one ever understands
you and what it feels like
to be alone in the middle of
a crowd. Write it down and
then stand back and look
at yourself in the mirror one
last time and then

pretend you're a writer.
Inspired by *intricately-ordinary's piece "Before I Can Become a Writer," as well as others inspired by it, such as =ssolaris and =your-methamphetamine.

It's bad. I know. It's just a jumble of anything and everything. But I don't care. It felt good to write this down.
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only the most
beautiful of creatures
live the shortest.

red roses and quivering
butterflies and other
useless things, like the
way she wishes on every star
she sees for a different
soul because she can't stand
the way it's rotting inside.

and it's only when
the thorns beneath her skin
start to bleed that her
monsters whisper, "have
you ever trembled, my dear?"

because they know
for every whimper that hides
faintly in the dark,
there is a pair of lips stretched
into a smile pretending
that all that is beautiful
is timeless and unbroken.
Hey guys, I'm not dead. I just can't write anymore. Here's a thing I've been trying to write for a week now. It's bad. I know. I just need to write something and post it. I'm sorry.

Sometimes life really isn't fair and wishes won't ever come true.

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Yesterday my mother asked me what I
would name my children and I told her that
I did not want any. She scoffed at me
and shook her head, insisting
that once I found the
"perfect man"
all of that would change.

And I thought back
to all the times when my palms
sweated and my throat ran dry
and my cheeks heated up just because
a girl walked by whose lips
were so pretty and pink that all I wanted
to do was taste them.

I replied, swallowing the acid
that was threatening to crawl out of
my mouth,
"it will take a lot more than that
to convince me."

Because despite the fact that
the mere thought of a man
with arms that could carry the weight of the
world holding me tight could
make my legs crumble beneath me,
I just don't know if it
would be the right choice.

I remember once
when I let it slip that I supported
those who loved all genders
my parents stared at me as if I
had admitted to murder. "It's wrong,"
my father had exclaimed and to me,
his words were a toxin more deadly
than arsenic. "It's disgusting."

In that moment I realized
that my parents would never be happy
with a daughter who could fall in love
with anyone the moment she
heard their laughter or saw the universe
that resided in their eyes. So I
just smiled and pretended that there
was no urge to rip off my skin
and burn it until all that was left
were bare bones and monochrome heart
too scared of what it desires.
Yes, this is cliche. Yes, this is a cry for attention because I need to get it out.

Yes, I'm officially coming out.

But only on the internet.

I. Am not. Straight.

I'm so tired of keeping it inside. I don't care if it's online but I need someone, anyone to know.

I am pansexual. I say pan because I find myself getting attracted to any gender, not just male and female. I figured it's time to stop pretending like it's not me and just embrace it the best I can instead of telling myself that I only think I feel this way. I've felt this way for about four years now. No, I'm not "confused"--I know what my heart wants and it makes me want to cry.

And if any of my friends in real life or my family knew this I don't know what they'd do. I don't know how they'd react. But I'm too fucking terrified to ever bring it up, even when everyone always bugs me about getting married and having children. I know some of them have accounts on here. And if they read this...please. Don't bring this up. Not yet. Let me bring it up to you. I'm sorry but I just don't think I can tell you yet.

Writing this has made me feel like someone punched me in the gut. Posting this is making my skin itch and sweat and oh god why am I doing this.
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i am not a goddess
nor do i
believe i wish to
be one.

i think
i'd rather be a half-forgotten
fairy tale
or a girl with opium
eyes and a
glass tongue;
an angel
who doesn't believe in
god, an
angel who
kisses demons with lips
that whisper poetry as artificial
as the mannequins in a
department store.

i want wings:
appendages stitched from
dying butterflies
and the feathers you
can find on
the ground - dirty,
ripped, but still

and i would soar
higher and higher
until i
couldn't breathe
and buy up
all the stars.

if i am being
i fall in love with
dragon girls
and wolf boys
much like the way a candle
melts; fast, hot, and dripping
wax down the side.

for now
i just want to fit
between these ugly bones
and the too-tight skin
that stretches across them.
i just really
don't feel like myself
and some days it
drives me mad.
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there are days i
want to run with wolves.

to howl at the stars because
the moon has never done
anything for me, and swallow roses
like their thorns never

but this cage -
it seems there's no way
and i fear it's
for anyone to hear me.

life is just a zoo full of
all our monsters, and
[it's our fault] we
can't stop
feeding them.
I don't have much to say anymore.

Don't feed them.
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it's ironic,
isn't it? the way
they say "hunger gnaws"
like the way our teeth
scrape against bones.

for all the
calories that are counted,
you still feel
empty. you aren't
beautiful until
you are digesting
nothing but air
and maybe your own guilt.

that's just the way
living is these
days: swallowing
glass shards to
slice up your insides so
you can ignore
the other kind of pain your
stomach is feeling.

but when people ask
if you're doing okay you just
smile and nod even though
you can't help but
think "if honesty was
tangible, i'd eat it right

life has
an acquired taste and
some days you'd
like to rip your
tongue out.
a collection of messy thoughts 
while staring at my dinner plate.
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i am the girl with
more faith in myths than in
the future.

there are more dead bodies in this world than the living.

and if that doesn't frighten you, then i
don't know what would. i guess you could
say that graves are just the closets in which
we hide our skeletons in.

  {but don't
            forget to
                       throw away
                                     the keys}

there are ghosts all around us.

and i think that maybe,
just maybe,
i'd rather take my chances down in
the underworld with them than up
here where the earth is slowly

all because of the living.
There are about 7 billion people currently living in the world today.

Think about all the people who have died since humans first appeared.

The ghosts really have us outnumbered, huh?
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