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For the birds

I’ve never felt closer to the birds.
Closer to my fears Closer to the curb.
falling down, picking myself back up
I’m not used to this, I was expecting the crash
Suddenly I feel the spine growing in my back
Arching my neck, lifting my chin up
Slowly but surely, I’m starting to not give a fuck.

I feel the sunshine embracing my face
Telling me I’m gorgeous, never sounding fake
Realer than ...

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abuse survivorpoetrythe birds

So Demanding

Something is telling me to clean up my act
But something else keeps holding me back
& something keeps telling me to run away, before it’s too late.
Before you permanently change me

All these what ifs keep me still
A prisoner in an imaginary cell
To bound by my insecurities; my own personal hell
to realize that I am living in a free woman's body.

And you say I’m lazy & I don’t know what i...

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Your hands have turned to catacombs
& you don’t know when exactly but sometime last month the last of your violets wilted in the hollows of your collarbones.
You’ve got spiderwebs for eyelashes the pupils of a black widow
and when they ask you if you’re okay, you explain you haven’t eaten much today

you smile with brittle-boned teeth.
Your heart feels unsteady in the way that it just won’t ...

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eating disorderpoetryself-harm

Femme Fatale

My name is known, my intentions are not. 
I sleep alone, with you in my thoughts. 
Wage the wars, fight the demons. 
I hold back the tears, but you hear me screaming. 

I am the ship that wrecked at shore. 
Constant conquest for happiness fought no more. 
I am the captain of the evil & damaged. 
We’re strong because we know we can survive. 
You can not kill those who have already died. 


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femme fatalemasochismpoetry


Irony is a malicious art-form. It’s shocking and sneaky and dripping with deceit.
Is it a karmic curse? Do I deserve to be toyed with like a worn out voodoo doll?
Did I ask for this? All the years of not caring at all.

Putting myself in harms way begging to be struck. 
Dancing around the fire drunk with a lust for self-sabotage.
And escaping fate every single time. 
It seems like a bad-joke ...

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anxietymental healthpanic attackspoetryptsd


If i were a butterfly
and you, the boy with the net
would you catch me?
would you keep me as a pet?
in a jar made of glass?

Could you bear to let me fly
without weeping for the loss?
Could you restrain your urge 
To feel my wings beat against your fingers?

Or would you reach out
knowing the cost
and brush the powder from my wings
so that i could no longer fly away?

Would you keep me y...

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Where do Lolita's go to Rot

To all the old men who once loved me to pieces
who once held me in their big callused hands 
like they were terrified to break me
when it's exactly what they planned to do:

You once looked at me 
like i was the galaxy sprawled out in front of you
You once looked at me like i was infinite 
Transcendant and eternal, time-proof

You wouldn't shoot me a second glance now, 
if i walked into you...

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lolitapoetryVladimir Nabokov

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