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lyricismpoetry · 11 months
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When you passed, I don’t know if I mourned you, I think I mourned your potential. The woman I defended and made excuses for daily, the woman I wanted nothing more than for you to say you were proud. I mourned that one day you would say you’re sorry, and that you would embrace me while I cried all those tears you told me to suck up. I mourned the absence of gentle hands that never reached out to me, and a calming voice that never sung to me. I mourned a woman that never existed, but I hoped you’d be. I am haunted by a ghost that has no body, and memories that don’t exist. That image I mourn is a mirage in a desert, as I desperately drag my limp body to it’s shores. You were supposed to be there. You were supposed to lift me up. You were supposed to be there even if I wasn’t perfect. I never got to meet that woman that everyone gets promised, and I got 24 years of you. 
I want to be mad, I want to be enraged, I want to scream at you in a fury, scream and ask that you give me what I’m owed, at least for once you can tell me how you really feel, tell me that you love me, tell me that you are proud, tell me that I can cry now, tell me that everything will be okay, tell me! But you can’t tell me now! You’re gone! You left me! You left me all alone with everything you forced upon me! I’m alone!
The only difference now is that the potential is lost. 
I mourn that potential, but I wish I had started sooner.
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lyricismpoetry · 11 months
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performance
Trigger warnings: mentions of suicide, self harm
I'm lonely with an audience
Somehow tricked the masses to surround me 
I want to hang myself from the rafters 
Have my body swing just out of the spotlight 
Let them read my eulogy like a screenplay, 
Leave their roses on the stage 
They have to know I'm an actor, right? 
The partner to comedy is tragedy. 
For every laugh I elicit there's a tear 
For every smile there's a scream of fear 
Barbiturates is what killed the beauty 
Sedate me again and I'll be be your movie 
I can't fathom a genuine applause 
unless my potential is gone
I've tricked them into thinking I can do it all 
To get up again is my fatal flaw 
Like a broken Marionette on brittle string 
I'm spiraling on the threads my mother left me
Snapped in half while the world is watching 
Can't wait to laugh while limping through it 
Like a professional, I can stop my tears on a dime
They're of no use in the limelight, or so I'm told 
Confessionals on stage are cruel to anyone enjoying the show 
So I cut my body with the silver screen
Hoping someone sees and asks me if I'm okay, knowing I'm not 
Maybe they'll finally ask when earth surrounds me.
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lyricismpoetry · 1 year
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What's the use of an ice holder? 
How do we make our existence tangible while watching unprocessed emotions go down the drain? 
How can we yell and scream to the world we are unwell? 
No one cares about melting ice 
We were meant to drown and disappear in their favorite cocktail 
Meant to melt without a word 
We are forced to recede further and further from the world 
All while they get to make decisions that shrink our community 
What's the use of an ice holder? 
Except to be quiet and die 
To appear in certain settings, loathed and salted
To be the plaything of people, shaped into their desired form 
To be told that our fragility means we are unworthy of respect, help, and love
Why say we're an ice holder, 
When we can hide wet hands and bitten skin 
We can act like their advice helps 
We can pretend that it's the cold we're after
We can pretend that all will be okay when warmth returns 
I am an ice holder 
Told I am choosing to freeze in despair 
Told I am not gripping hard enough or even gripping too hard 
Told to drip silently and quickly get back to work 
I am an ice holder
But the only cold that they listen to is steel. 
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lyricismpoetry · 1 year
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A ballerina on a spindly spring
Wind her up, and watch her spin
She requires a boost, doing the same thing again and again
Until she runs on empty
You can hear the music box sputter
As she slows, she desperately looks out for another 
To turn her wrench, the key to her fruitless cycle
But all she does is spin over and over
Some find her unable to stand without her spring and key
Others berate her for her endless cycle
But eventually people get bored of calling her helpless
Eventually people forget her melody’s desperate call
People pay no heed to her predictable ways
She cannot do anything else, stuck in her musical coffin
Even if she tries to escape her porcelainized life
The world was not built for a single ballerina
Especially not one who had to teach herself how to stand
So she spins and spins and spins and spins
Until she is forced into a velvet burial 
Even in death they are bored of her
An image so delicate
From which she could never spin away 
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lyricismpoetry · 1 year
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Selkie of the desert
I am a Selkie far from the sea. My coat isn't with me, but I'd rather be without my coat than return to an ocean who's rage scars me to this day. 
When I was young, I wrote my name in the sand 
It was strong and confident, curled like the baby hairs that clung to my cheeks. 
I was happy with it, confident in the way I wrote it faster than my classmates. My teachers praised me for my maturity. 
But the waves soon sloshed over my accomplishments, and I had nothing to show for it. 
I felt humiliated, my once resolute resolve churned in the great ocean before me. 
Each time I wrote out my name, each time I became comfortable with it, the ocean came back and reminded me of its power. 
I developed Thalassophobia quickly, running away from the foamy curtains as it dragged its destructive hand across my work. I began writing my name less and less, and even began to forget how to write it. 
But after watching the cycle of water, forced to helplessly observe its eroding of my ego and Id, I began to form patterns. 
Being bound to the sea, I learned the warning signs, the calm evenings, the choppy mornings, the lows and highs. I observed what angered it, and tried to curb its reaction. I saw when the moon hung certain ways in the sky and planned accordingly. Soon enough, I was able to write my name again. 
Not without the ocean in mind, however. 
I never became an expert, and some days the ocean would make off with all my work, leaving me empty, but I became so convinced that it was my own fault for not reading the ocean correctly. It was my own fault for letting the results get that bad. It was my own fault that the storm came out of nowhere. I was at fault for not accommodating the ocean. 
I am a selkie far from the sea, and I hide my coat. None can know what I am. They'll only tell me it's my fault. They'll treat me like the ocean did. What a horrible Selkie I am. What a horrible woman. How dare I drown in waters meant to kill me.
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lyricismpoetry · 1 year
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Ice
Ice melts through my bitten hands. It's supposed to help. 
It replaces the pain of steel, but it doesn't quite do the job. 
Ice in the moment hurts, but it's effects last nary a moment after it slowly flows down the drain. It leaves the world, acting like it's done everything it was supposed to, which I guess it has. It's melted, continuing its cycle and flowing back into other forms. With it, though, it hasn't taken everything. 
It was supposed to take my sadness too, but the pure waters rejected it, leaving the miasma of negativity with me. It's done its bare minimum, it gets to move on. It doesn't have to worry about me anymore. I'm just a step in its cycle. 
Steel takes so much more. If I bite myself with steel, I can cut away the part of me that is numb. I can slice out the hurt, and replace it with tangible pain and proof. Validation of my pain. 
Ice has never given that to me. I've dealt with Ice many times before. 
I come from Ice, only wishing to continue its cycle, expecting my warmth to help it along. It expects to rush along and not hear from me until it comes around as Ice again. It forgets each time, however, and each time it leaves me with the same result. 
Steel chops me up, and forces what I need. It creates that image that others look for, the one that is deserving of help. Steel gathers their attention, and marks me with proof of unwellness, even when Steel is just a whisper in my ear. 
To blister my hands with blizzards is to comfort those who have never felt the urge to consult Steel. To not have any second hand association to it is godliness, and makes them believe they are good people. 
To bring in Steel means to betray them, and to slash their oasis, an oasis they believe you must drink from, not bothering to confirm the mirage. To slash their reality means to create an understanding of misunderstanding, and proof of ignorance. 
Ice tinted rose disturbs nary a soul, and is only offered after a slightness to Steel 
I do not enjoy using Steel, almost as much as they hate seeing it, 
But at least I'm seen.
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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Cyanide sweetness, your favorite flavor of poison
Sucrose strangle, I chew on your addiction
Cigarettes were no match for your might, and amphetamines never bothered you
But flowering berries of the spring and summer time 
Kept hold on your serotonin receptors
Red like rage, Red like passion
Two sides of a coin, two sides of cherry madness
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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The single Iris of silver stares down on me tonight. On a Night like this, you would find it hard to accept the blessed gift of hypnos, and the inky sclera of the night did not comfort you. You would wake up the next day tired as ever, and informing me of Artemis's transgression. 
I find myself in the same situation now, not that the mirror of Apollo bothers me, but it feels like you're watching. 
A great silver iris hangs in the sky among the great cloth of time. Be it lycanthropy or deital obligation, I stare back with Mercurian eyes. 
Maybe on nights like these where you were never able to sleep, you're looking down on me with a silver-ribbon gaze. 
Maybe this is your chance to give me the embrace goodbye I never got
Until I am able to join you, on nights like these I'll bathe in your steeled love, donning it like an armor to ravage any obstacle in my way 
Your love will forever be my shield 
So forgive me for the stars that will forever fall from my eyes. 
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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Ghost in the Mirror, Feb 2021
rorriM eht ni tsohG, June 2021
Healing in poetry form
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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I pressed my hand against the wood of the tree that now holds you, carrying you like you carried me. The grain of your body barely aged. The rings of your body doesn't exceed 60, but I dare not look at your face. 
The oaken pews of the grand stone fortress sings with your praise. Some among the rows fight with mist in their eyes, others let their emotions flood. 
Many others listen on the wind, mourning your absence. 
Like seeds of a dandelion, you've spread far and wide. I still bear the daisy chains and dandelion manes you made me. 
From the earth you came, resilient and tough, to the orchard you raised, blooming and bearing different fruit. 
My apple tree, the one you planted for me, infinite in its growth. 
My apple tree, how bare it seems, 
Now that you aren't here to reach its branches for me. 
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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Sitting underneath this great apple tree
We used to feast on the sweet fruits of life
We used to lounge by its shade
In the winter, you held me close and stroked my hair 
You pointed out it's strong roots
You told me about when it was just a sapling 
You weaved it's blossoms through my hair
That apple tree is now all I have
An empty space in the grass where you once sat
A lonesome time at the apple tree
Winter has stripped its branches clean
This apple tree that was so special to us
Means nothing while you aren't here. 
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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The last capsule in a prescription bottle that we shared
I want to save it for you
To tap it out into your hands,
Maybe that will bring you back to me
The last capsule bears joy of an obvious life lived and attempts to live it well
But the end result is an empty pill bottle 
The last capsule sits in the palm of my hand, and I know I have others like it, 
But the empty bottle fills my grief today. 
I know I can't give you this final capsule, so I take it for myself
I'll attempt to live twice the joyous life you provided and promised
This final capsule is not my last, I promise you.
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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Imprinted with childlike wonder
Only the ghost of joy is left
The person who made this hole is gone
Leaving an angel in its wake
Like winter’s snow angels
You’ve only left me with an imprint of your life
And with the tide of spring this hole shall melt
But for now the blizzard rages on, leaving a cold emptiness
Where once playful laughter and joy flurried 
I scream into the wind, hoping that maybe you’ll hear me
And hold me close and warm me in your arms
But all I’m left with is a snow angel
Proof that joy was once had
But this empty silhouette 
Is the receptacle for many tears this cold February day
Please. I beg you. Come back to me
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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Every glance in a dreaded reflective surface I see you. I see your eyes, I see your determination. I see your smile. 
I’m plagued with your laugh. Your humor. Your thoughts. Your ideals. I’m longing for your voice, but all I have is what you’ve passed onto me. I look like you, and it stings. 
I want to scribble out the remains of you in the mirror
I want to scream out your voice from my lungs
I want to rip out the tenacity you gifted me
You are the ghost in my reflection
But a ghost I wish you weren’t to me 
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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Demeter, mother of my world
I had obeyed your every order
I did not touch the fruit of the dead
And I came back to you when all was done
I washed my hands not in the river stix
And I kept spring close
So why has winter taken over? 
Why has snow killed my joy?
Why did you leave me, your persephone? 
With no foliage in this world? 
I did everything right, 
But you were still taken from me
Demeter, mother of mine
Reclaimed by the earth before your time. 
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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Is it a sin to grieve with broken skin
With tears a hemagonist red
Is it a sin to drag a blade across skin
Only to be hurt more by the reality confirmed 
Is it a sin to text dead lines 
In hopes of an answer that will never come
Is it a sin to scream at an imaginary god
For inflicting such trials upon a mortal girl
Is this a tale, a tragedy of modern days
Is this a sin I am being punished for, 
Eagles picking at my liver
No, this pain is far worse
I would gladly give my liver for your safe return
My demeter, my mother d'terre 
I did not eat the pomegranate like you said
So why are you gone? 
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lyricismpoetry · 3 years
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Cross my heart, hope to die
Stick a needle through my eye
Find the problem, lobotomize
The one thing that continues to terrorize 
Pill bottles full of posies 
An attempt to tame my neuroses
A laundry list of diagnoses 
With a curt prognoses
My silver bells and cockle shells 
Torture from my own personal hells
The creature on my shoulder that refuses farewell
Trapped am I in this twisted kinder spell
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