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caught

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caught

when I was younger I used to chase boys across the schoolyard and carve their names into the darkest depths of my makeshift diaries; I thought they were my best kept secrets, so carefully tucked away under the corners of my mattress (or so I thought until my mother asked me exactly who jonathan was and why my tongue tripped over his name.) as I entered my ripe and pungent teenage years full of angst and peer pressure I found myself falling or rather flailing madly into love, which the first one is always the messiest because we’re still not quite sure what love is except that it makes your chest feel tight and sitting in

cyanus diadem (#2)

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cyanus diadem (#2)

cornflower mood with the confidence to cope with fair weather featherweight hues of happiness. harlequin shades of the same face, it's all blue when it's fresh or when it's a storm-torn sea shell with remnants of sky pigments powdering its curves.

170cm, 53kg

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170cm, 53kg

I look past the mirror whenever I can, but today I can't look away from the person reflected in the slightly fogged glass that doesn't always show the image clearly, but it's clear enough. Hair that can't settle for one colour or another, shades of blonde overlapping and blending like streams of thought that only connect to each other by thin strings. Fringe brushed to one side, a curl in it from where I always tuck it behind my ear. Just a little thing, and I don't know if anyone else ever notices it. Heart-shaped face, wide forehead (clever girl, big brain, large skull, perhaps? It's an explanation, even if it's nonsense), high cheekbone

eye contact, the gatekeeper (#6)

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eye contact, the gatekeeper (#6)

"eyes are windows to the soul," a gasoline phrase on a sleepy fire with blackened vision or a heightened sense of self; because who knows what will be perceived by those not manipulated into believing what you want everyone else to see about you. a sentry for senses for centuries; since the beginning we kept big and little hands on the curling and unfurling of dead numbers that ring true at least twice a day. consider eyes a marker of all the times you lived, lied, and died. the first watch in the pupil and iris, separated from the one on your wrist.

5'8'' or so I say.

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5'8'' or so I say.

5'8" or so I say, But the doctor says I'm 5'6". I like to blame it on The fact I slouch. I probably got that From sitting about, Refusing to sleep. Insomnia. But that's what makes me, Me. My boyfriend calls me small, He says it makes me cute, And though I argue, I guess I secretly love it. I don't exercise much, I'm always so stiff and sore. You'd think I'd be heavier than 89lb, Though that was a year ago. I've been through a lot. Now I'm 102lb and I can honestly still say: I'm not overweight; Quite the contrary, I could probably do with A little extra meat, A couple extra pounds, Maybe a stone or two. I try avoid the scales, I know they d
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ripples on a blank shore (#15)

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ripples on a blank shore (#15)

in rainbows with a petrichor veil; you've caught my breath in palms covered in dandelions' dust, my longing, an uncovered explosion of drafts hidden from the both of us. but i reach out, knowing wind-chime silence is a possibility as it has always been; knowing the doldrums of my harrowing echoes could be the only reality i'm pressed against, but i'm more than willing to risk my heart and expose it to the weight of sorrow if there's a sliver of a shot that we can be together. suspended in the contingency of the unknown, i hope your wrung hands red with distortion & blue with disappearance, make your way back to the greying soles of my

tablature (#16)

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tablature (#16)

u. sharpest note on sheet music, eyeing half-steps with displeasure, you ring the toll with vibrating thunder, storm iris and electric ticks. you said i quit: those words weaved into the slits of my digits and i quivered, wavered because i fear you because i adore you because i love you. i wanted to blanket every lie i ever told myself and stitch the quilt around my neck; knitted lace ties together the part i want to be; and the part that i am. living to die and floating in purgatory; your touch the eve of heaven; the wait, corrupted monsters roaming the monasteries, the hellhole of my flawed continuation. i. feudalism of the mind, again

[7] intimate affairs

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[7] intimate affairs

if ever were I to have a lover it would be with my pillowcase-- it has seen me at my messiest, sprawled out raw and bleeding as wrenching sobs vibrate through my chest and my fingers are white knuckled and numb from grasping at my slipping reality   just a little too hard. it has seen me blank and reeling as I contemplate my finite existence amongst quagmires of stars in the small hours of the   morning when sleep has left   me to combat my landmind thoughts alone as I build and break myself into bite-size quantums. it has seen me in my rarest of forms, when my body feels like its catching fire as a radiant buzz unwinds the
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