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The Weaver

Carefully intertwined,

the threads of my mind.

Been weaving since I first

heard the words of your verse.

 

Sometimes these strings get

tangled and form a threat.

They flow right out my mouth 

with no stumble, pause, or doubt.

 

It’s only when my cords hit you

that you seem to understand.

The needles you pinned to my brain,

where my cloth wove and wove again,

...

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influence

Fill Me

Show me off

Stainless steel

Is it real

or will I rust?

 

Patiently,

I sit still.

Hope you’ll fill

up my cup.

 

And if I overflow,

will you be there to clean

the mess I’ve been in?

The mess you let me sit in.

 

Consecrete 

your ill mind

and you'll find

I’m not the cure.

 

So,

push me off,

let me spill,

so you’ll feel

my warm bl...

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value

My Hair

Today, I curled my hair

coiled every ringlet,

and when you asked to feel it,

and when you asked to keep it,

I pulled some out for you.

 

Today, I dyed my hair

bleached every strand,

and when you called it “so bland”

and when you called it “so bad”

I pulled some out again.

 

Today, I crimped my hair

heating every skein,

but then you called me insane,

and...

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hurt

Snow

 

When I was six years old,

my bunny, Snow, passed.

Her body went cold

as I squeezed her heart out.

 

There it was, on the ground,

beating out my name,

creating the sound

of love she had for me.

 

Dropping down to my knees,

my pointer and thumb

picked up the heart I squeezed,

with blood beneath my nails.

 

Did she really love me,

or was she someth...

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Confusiongriefguilt

The Garnish

Like broccoli to a small child,

scraped away I am.

At the dish’s edge, I am piled,

left upon the pan.

Slowly, my heart grows cold;

no forks poke my way

until I’m brought home to the trash,

no food on my tray.

 

No apples to keep

cold, gloved hands of doctors away,

no hearts to beat

or sear my ego into filets.

I’m starving, hungry

to find a food that I don'...

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alonepeace

The Ball

 

Can I fix this puzzle

of pieces life gave me?

Like a ball on a tee,

I wait to get hit.

 

As they pierce through the air

with every swing they take,

the bruises that they make

are so precious to me.

 

The gashes make me think

new poems and new songs,

as intricate as wars,

the feud of brain and heart.

 

So hit me once more, please,

and let the sti...

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artwriters

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