.
I thought that if I could make something beautiful, a piece of art, a haunting poem, if I could do something with all of this ugly stuff inside me, it would make the mess excusable. It would make the living in a bruised being, worth it.
.
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.
Forgive me for what I am.
.
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Somehow, I will survive.
Through winter I have frozen, so through spring I will thaw.
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Regret lines my throat, like a snake skin about to be shed.
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I have no room for regret, in this life that I am trying to make beautiful.
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If I refuse to speak about it, I can snuff it out of existence.
If I even breathe on that thought, it will take the oxygen out of the air, and run with it.
And so in its presence, I do not move.
Of its presence, I do not speak.
If I do not look at it, pretend it doesnt exist, it may even cease to exist.
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from Tiny Beautiful Things, adapted for the stage by Nia Vardalos.
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We are the same breed, you and me. Rabid dogs. Ground hogs. The quiet and the beast.
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Nobody understand me, and I understand no one.
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I had wanted for a very long time, to learn what love felt like.
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I craft for you this special little place,
Here in my heart,
This last warm chamber,
It is yours.
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~
Our friendship, is like a letter opened, abandoned by the fire, long since gone out. It is words which I have uttered, with the bravado of a lion cub, and that you have allowed the wind to carry away, with your ear in an adjacent direction. You have become a cold shoulder. And I, an impotent child, nudging your arm. The silence which ensues is mortifying. So, I too look ahead, mimicking the stoic way in which you do. Of course I do not care, it was only the first half of my life I spent with you. I do not weep; I care as little as you do.
~
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Back when the world was big.
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I cannot choose my fate.
Which is such a great shame.
I want everything, so I will have nothing,
I want to be all, so I will be very little.
Because I cannot choose.
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It feels like everything I've ever wanted is so close and yet out of reach,
You're in the next room but you might as well be worlds away,
The wind howls at my window and I apologise for making another mistake,
For never doing it right every chance I get
For biting the hand of fate,
For fucking everything up,
Always.
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I am the shapeless thing
That takes form in peoples lives breifly
Never the same image
Never fully known
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