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i used to look for flaws in my mirror until i became angry with him
shattered him because he didn’t look how i believed he should
from that day his reflection was wrong
he was hurt
and he cried that he was broken
he was bad luck
and i cried that i could not fix him
and when we ran out of tears i whispered to him
“a broken mirror is only bad luck if you believe its reflection to be flawless”
and now i tell him i love him as often as i remember and i think he’s beginning to believe it
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tw eating disorder
fragile bones
can i let myself be more
than a sculpture of fragile bones
that’s not what i’ve ever been
but it’s what i’ve been striving for
can i look in a mirror
without sucking my breath in
to be sure of how i’d look
if i were perfectly inhuman
can i wish away reflections
there for pointing out my flaws
reaching out to rip my skin off
metaphoric teeth and claws
eyes drawn to every angle
each a mark of how i’ve failed
then on the floor i draw new angles
twisting spirals into sharp details
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i think i’ve known all along we were never meant to be
but still i reached for the stars
trying desperately to realign them for you
the stars are a lot farther than they look
i never even came close
never even brushed my fingertips against one
i find myself now worn down like a child’s favorite crayon
perfect for drawing their sky
but humans were never meant to spend every night looking up
trying for the hundredth time to change what will never be within reach
now i’ll climb off this ladder
feel the soft earth of self preservation once more
i hope you know how dearly i still love you
and i hope you’ll forgive me for being my own person
and i hope you find the strength to grow without me
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if there’s something you need help with you can add it to my stack
i’m very good at helping, keeping problems on my back
at first they all could fit inside my worn out little sack
but then they split the seams and now i keep them in a stack
i’m so strong for collecting these until my bones all crack
but cracked bones can’t bare burdens and the panic has attacked.
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Fear behind a death glare
when you see yourself at the center of everything
and you resent us for not placing ourselves in your orrery
we wear black boots to tell you we’re not afraid to kick you back
and we darken our eyes to tell you we’re no different from the shadows you put in our minds
but it makes no difference to you
we only do this to tell ourselves not to be afraid
we fill our ears and our heads with songs of fighting to drown out the sounds that scare us
we lace our boots tight so we’re ready to run when it comes to that
we spend our teenage years playing dress up in illusions of power
a game of make believe that you couldn’t close your fist and crush us at any moment
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a self centered little stinkboy
stole the center of myself
he gently tucked my rationality
on the out of reachest shelf
and then he told me what to do
and i thought maybe he was right
so i appeased him
since no other way of living was in sight
it could hardly be called living
spending months digging my grave
but he encouraged me
the farther down i dug, he called me brave
and then one day i looked up
i could barely see the sky
i was trapped and i was hopeless
so i curled up to cry
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try all you want to rip my security cactus out of my arms
all you’re doing is giving me reason to hold onto it tighter
what you see is the needles covering my face and arms
what i feel is the familiarity of it
the predictability of pain
offer me those
and i may set this cactus down on my own
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the trees hold steady in ways nothing else does
they don’t hide their weakest parts
they show them with cracks and dead leaves
a warning not to hold on
but they offer out their strongest limbs
as a place to pull higher and higher up
and then as a resting place
at the very least they spread their shade
a place of protection from the sun’s harshness
the trees are always there
predictable
sturdy
comforting
sheltering
providing what a family has failed to give
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don’t get in a fight with a safety pin
of of you’s sharper and clearly will win
when safety pin fighting you’ve nothing to gain
don’t fall for it’s trickery leading to pain
you’ll surely regret it whenever it’s done
so remember that safety pin fighting ‘s no fun
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lost in some deep blue
with only water to breathe
but maybe all this blue is the sky
no of course it’s not
i’ll sink down until the sun is gone
just to prove it to you
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the mind of a poet:
*writes a poem*
not even a minute later
“the words was just flowing, my y’alls”
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spoons in a backpack
why are they there?
in case you pack soup
without being aware
that you might need a spoon
with which to consume
or you could go soupless
a terrible doom
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around me the earth is cracked and dry
just mist cannot heal me now
trust me i’ve tried
if someone would dare put their hands in this soil
my leaves would perk up
without much of a toil
but no one’s got time for my withered up stalk
all that they do is they point and they talk
of how my drooping blossoms
stand out from the rest
in this flourishing garden
my godawful mess
so i search for a hint of a cloud in the sky
to bring me a downpour
to silence my cry
at last the rain comes, i rise up from the ground
i’ve made it this far and i’m sticking around.
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you find a hand inside the darkness
and you take it without thought
cause a chance at getting out of here
is something, is it not?
you let it guide you blindly
and you rest a little while
but the darkness just gets bigger
every mile after mile
the hand starts feeling colder
and no longer like a friend
costumed in a hope
that led you farther from the end
you try to pull away now
but the hand still grips you tight
so why not embrace the darkness
when there’s nothing else in sight
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A bug
there’s a little bitty bug
he is climbing on my shoulder
some may refer to him
as a charismatic lawyer
he sings do do doo do doo
as he clambers up my arm
and he yells into my ear
a dumb reason for alarm
nobody likes him very much
he’s really quite an ass
he sets my fingers shaking
in the middle of a class
he bullies and he beats me up
he bosses me around
he whispers when in public
that i’m acting like a clown
i wish i could get rid of him
but on my arm he stays
almost always causing trouble
resting every couple days
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this poem is about michigan.
michigan
michigan
filling up with fish again
call up all the fishermen
because the state of michigan
is filling up with fish again
fish for every citizen
fish for your friend finnigan
there certainly are at least ten
fish in the state of michigan
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