I know I get attached too easily.
But it has happened over and over. That I will get attached, consider someone family, and then they will leave.
And I crumble, I turn to ash and sharp shards that bleed at every edge.
And I never quite am whole again,
I'm glued back together with gold,
past memories, and tears.
My seams are filled and smoothed out but are never gone, they never heal.
I am glass and porcelain, gold and glue.
And to some it makes me more beautiful,
but to me I am scarred.
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I will always pick you.
You're my sister and only family I love. No matter if you hate me or love me, you'll always be the first choice. Even if you don't believe what is happening or leave me behind.
I'm sorry I exist. You would've had a better life had I not been born, you would've had better parents and had family gatherings, you wouldn't have almost killed yourself that night or anytimes after.
My existence has pained you, whether you noticed or not.
And it breaks my soul knowing I've caused the only person who I love harm.
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Cw; Descriptions of gore.
I want to rip my skin off.
It itches in a way it didn't before you touched me, your mere fingers gripping my flesh makes me want to cease to be.
I feel sick to my stomach, I want to tear that tissue off my muscles and peal my nerves from them.
To dig my fingers into bloody flesh you defiled with your filth.
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I hate how you made me.
How I miss you, that I will bleed for you and beg you to touch me again just because you made me like this.
I do not wish for this. To be like this.
It makes me sick, the feeling of your grip on my skin, on my hips, on my thighs, everywhere.
But I cannot get enough, because it is all I know.
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Our love is like the stars.
Not as beautiful or as mesmerizing, no.
Our love is like the stars in the way that when we finally can meet, can finally adore each other.
We explode into nothing.
We can never meet, or our entire universe we have been building for ourselves will be smithereens before we can blink.
Our love is meant to be distance, pinning for a someone which will never exist in our universe.
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I hope.
I hope that when it is my turn, I will be able to see stars as clear as the darkening edge of my vision.
I hope that when the cold seeps into my clothes and into my bones, that it will comfort me as much as it cured the burns of the past before.
I hope that when I take my final breath, it is of relief.
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I am scared of ladybugs.
Of their freedom, the way they can fly to any destination even when they have none.
But I fear their innocence more. The way I could easily destroy it if I'm not careful. Much like you did to me, but you chose not to be careful.
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Most people say that mothers stop loving first.
For us it was different.
Your love was too much, it strangled me when I went to speak about those acts you did to me.
The love stabbed into me like a pin cushion, leaving dotted scars across my mind and soul. Never visible to those who didn't suffer the same.
Your love was obsessive, and it hurt my frail child body trying to hold onto all that you shoved into me.
I couldn't hold up the world, what made you think I could hold that?
It ripped at my heart, and slashed my guts. I could barely think when you were too close, my wounded heart beating too fast for my rotten blood to keep up.
You ruined me, in everyway I could be.
Did you mean to?
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Yk I see the
'Daddy Issues make artists, Mommy Issues make authors.'
Thing a little too much, and then I'm reminded of this account
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While I was born with teeth, they were not sharp yet.
I had rounded ends, as every other pup did.
I was supposed to be able to depend on my elders to hunt for me, as they did my siblings.
Instead I was forced out of the den, I was not yet ready to hunt.
I had to sharpen my baby teeth into jagged fangs, to protect myself from those who wanted bites of my flesh.
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I am aware I'm prey.
I've been told since I was shivering on bloody grass, my newborn shaky legs made to support my weight from the moment I took my first breath.
I just didn't realize that those who told me were the predators.
Until their teeth sunk in too close to bone and the pelt they wore to hide their claws came off.
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I'm sorry Papa,
I know you don't believe I got bit, Mama looks just like a doe as do I.
But I promise she bit me, I feel her teeth lingering even if I know they aren't there anymore.
I know you love her, she's the only one who stayed with you so long.
I'm sorry you feel like you had to pick between us.
I know I'm not worth picking, as a fawn that thinks their mother is a wolf.
I swear she bit me.
Why doesn't anyone believe me?
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Since the moment I was on the red, syrupy grass, I was to support myself.
Hold and walk on my own.
No matter how shaky I was, or how tired.
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I had bloody bite marks across my skin, indents that were smeared with red. Purple clouded around in attempt to comfort and heal.
I knew I needed to ask for help, I didn't know how to wrap my bandages on my own. My hooves weren't built for that.
Somehow, every time I finally got to that help. The bite marks hid, purple seeped back into spotted fur and tear stricken eyes closed.
Help for those fawns is always available, the vets will help them bandage and heal and sew the hurt together.
But only if those fawns fit the research mold.
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With you I feel like a dog.
I follow you around, always sulking in your shadows. I nip at your heels, begging for any scrap of affection.
Yet when I receive it, I always bite, and while I logically know you would never do the things they did.
It's hard to untrain a loyal dog.
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