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{ Words by @fatimaamerbilal from being unwanted is a language. /Haruki Murakami from The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle }
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on death with 1. lilies abounded, @petfurniture, twitter; 2. frances molina, “o’death”
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i’m a painter
i hate my canvas.
it’s rough and textured and imperfect
it’s hard to paint
and nothing works out
i get angry
i smear my art
i cut apart my canvas and cry and cry.
but this is the only canvas i have.
so i will put my canvas back together
and despite the cuts and stains,
i will continue to paint,
with my heart bleeding on the canvas,
but healing too.
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i’m so cold without you
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I’m so tired
i don’t have a purpose
i just exist
and that’s okay sometimes
but today
today i want to be seen
why not me?
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and it was all yellow
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my sun
bathe me in your rays of light
hold me in your warm embrace
and melt my cold heart
so i learn to love again
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shame consumes me
it makes me feel disgusting
my wrists are itchy
why did i ever start?
i hate that i enjoyed it
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death is upon me
it calls to me while i sleep
and haunts me in my dreams
i don’t give in
in hopes of finding hope
but how much longer do i have to search?
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i miss you
i don’t know what i did wrong
am i overthinking?
do you need space?
am i too much?
im sorry
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