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#recovery poem
amalgamationink · 1 year
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I knew it when your house bloomed. When the front step shifted from a held breath to a threshold.
The stasis had settled in, years-deep, sprawling through each room until the air went brittle, until (oops) it gnawed upon the bones.
And yet from day to day I watched you push it back. The rooms began to breathe again.
In the low light, you went shadow-kissed, the hollows of you retreating— but when I squinted to see, you rolled up your sleeves to replace the bulbs. The lightning in my chest could’ve lit the room itself.
I could cry for all your quiet concessions: a softer chair, a proper bed, the kitchen cracking an eye when I stirred a coffee at the counter.
On the last visit (before they stopped being visits, before the admitted defeat and the mutual resignation to the rest of our lives together) I slipped you a handful of buttercups that had begun to cautiously regain footing in the yard.
What’s this? you said, and you hadn’t quite resurrected the house enough for vases, so I tucked one into your lapel as you pushed another behind my ear.
A housewarming present, and I kissed your teeth as the home you’d built with me in mind heaved a contented sigh. Someone finally lives here.
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queen-of-empathy · 9 months
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Waffles After the Movie Theatre
I’ll take double
whipped cream please
because I feel like
a kid again, briefly
I’m blinded by
fluorescent lights
pleather booths
and actual youths
making smarter nutritional
choices than me
I guess I’ll take
the strawberries
I used to take pride
in being hungry
now I take life and
dip it in honey
oh and the movie we saw
was kind of funny
my friends said it
was just about fine
we slipped in the
rain on the cobbles
and after our waffles
we went out for fries
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burnbitebleed · 8 months
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Poem 3 "The Difference" Today, I am naked underneath a blue johnny shirt At least I took a shower, I shaved my legs... I don't feel clean on the inside But I scrub my skin under too-hot water to Make up the difference Sometimes, I am resentful, But today, I am willing, I will do my part, To exorcise this demon And all of the scar tissue That has grown into the fabric of me My new hero, Marsha, preaches adaptive denial, And I think this can help me We'll see, though, if the bones of me are good Maybe I can make up the difference
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veryluckyclovers · 3 months
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having a moment. That is lasting a long time
💧🍯☕️
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The things you create don’t have to make sense! They can be messy and wild! They can be confusing and strange! They can be ugly and weird! Stop tethering your sense of creativity to what other people will accept. You deserve to create without inhibition.
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haleyincarnate · 1 year
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Quote by Ari Cofer
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softdedue · 8 months
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what if you just keep getting worse?
well, you learn to stop hoping for certain kinds of things, but you also learn to look forward to others. you learn to be flexible about the future but you also learn to find joy in the simplest of moments. you discover how much love and support you can receive from total strangers, and how good some parts of the world are, and there will be parts that are bad and people who will fall through, but you learn how to pick yourself up and keep crawling anyway. You find ways to encourage yourself to do things that others would consider no effort at all, and you take pride in the tiniest of accomplishments
I am starting to cook for myself again after years of avoiding it because I found some advice that actually works for neurodivergent disabled people. I got married last month. I have four cats and a dog and a balcony full of plants I keep forgetting to water, and I am sicker than I have ever been—but I’m so much happier too.
You spend your whole life thinking “if this thing fails on me the world will end” and then one day the thing fails and you wake up the next morning anyway. You keep waking up every morning anyway, no matter how many things fail, and you learn how to ask for kinds of help you didn’t even know a person could offer, and some days you realize you’re not just putting one inevitable foot in front of the other but you’re living your life.
You’re alive. People may tease you for being proud of having made it to thirty but it’s the biggest accomplishment of your life. You could have died or given up or allowed the misery to take you a hundred times, but you kept putting that foot in front of the other one. You kept waking up.
So yes, you are worse. You’re never going to get better. But at the same time, you are better than you have ever been in your life.
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robertjw4688 · 1 month
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Growth is not
a straight line
nor is it a
fault line.
Growth is
a semicolon
placed where an
ellipsis
once slept.
Robert J. W.
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lena-oleanderson · 5 months
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i talk about god a lot.
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slowfalter · 8 months
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I tried to write a love letter to my body
For therapeutic purposes
But I wasn’t ready
I cannot see the beauty
In all the things you do for me
I would be lying if I said
Your thighs don’t kind of scare me
But I don’t have hate for you
More just unfair expectations
I wish I could feel differently
Dear body,
I’m afraid I still don’t love you
But truly, I am sorry.
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amalgamationink · 1 year
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snarlingteeth · 9 months
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Breakfast For Dinner, 2023
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burnbitebleed · 5 days
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CW: ED topic/numbers/behaviours
BITE
Ask me to acknowledge comprehension
Of insider lingo
Like it’s nothing
Like everybody knows their lowest weight
To the gram
Like I’m going to tell you
Bulimia is a really ugly word
For self-emptying
“I have nothing to hide, I showed you”
As if I’ve no secrets, no dark tumours
Inside my thoughts
They pulse
It’s no wonder that they burst
And burst they did
Although I won’t forgive myself
Not yet
Not ever
Anyway, I’ve recovered
I did that for you
I stopped counting
I stopped puking
I smoked pot instead
As the numbers crept up
I told myself I’d end my life
If I ever got to 130 lbs
The thing is
That’s half my weight now
So I’m carrying another person
Inside me
One fourteen
It should have been lower
But I wouldn’t have stopped!
So I recovered
I made myself drink bleach
Drink paint thinner
Swallow knives
Smoke crack
The thing is, I’m not sure it
Worked out better
Only differently
Differently dying
Making an offering
Of my stomach lining
But God wouldn’t take it
She said there’s no room for hypocrisy
I said oh you of little faith
But the thing is
I know she’s right
I take one more bite
Just this, one more
Bite.
(A poem I wrote, in honesty.)
Embroidery by A Zaza, on denim dress (2018)
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emirrart · 6 months
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20,10,2023
You'll go through a million-and-one things, dear girl,
And I will not tell you one.
To scare you away, to make you fearful of the life you were so looking forward to living,
Would be a crime.
To tear away the time you have, to fill it with worry instead of play,
Would be a sin.
I will carry your burdens, dear baby.
All you must do,
Is stay You.
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timberfigure · 7 months
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Eventually, your roots grew into my spine. They found water and they became strong. I became your lifeblood and I hadn't asked for that. You put me here. You put me beneath you and as your source.
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