These poems tell a story. They're not in chronological order, but they're still a story. There isn't an end yet, but someday there will be.
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sweetness floods my mouth
every taste bud erupts
as I smile at the waiter
if I were a billionaire
I'd hide every cent
except from them
I'd slip them a hundred
and walk away quickly
music fills my ears
as I walk across the street
headed straight for the girl
standing on the corner
if I were a billionare
I'd hide every cent
except from them
I'd drop them a hundred
as I walk quickly past
laughter fills the air
as my friends sit around the table
if I were a billionaire
I'd hide every cent
except from them
I'd stuff a hundred in their jacket pockets
as I put them away
the wind fills the car
as they give me a ride
and polite conversation
if I were a billionaire
I'd hide every cent
except for from them
I'd hide a hundred under the seat
before getting out
and walking away
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There's an ache
somewhere deep
deep
within me
and
as I hang up the phone
I feel that
it's all
your
fault
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The Taste of Grey
Grey is filled with thousands of options
and dozens of tastes
The playful, contentedness of baby food filling an infants mouth
the acceptance, pride, power, and optimism of a fresh uniform
the interest and peace can be tasted in a misty morning
The loneliness and vulnerability in that first high school lunch
the despair and depression of tears on a suffocation-resistant bed sheet in the 'hospital'
the guilt and hurt can be tasted in the back of your throat when you're most alone
The awful repelling, taste lingers in that singular period after an anger message
the disappointing and disapproving look of your favourite teacher
The whispers of critical and distant family members
the bitter humilation after turning in a bad assignment
the frustrating and aggressive aura when your mother enters the door
the grey can be tasted in the act of being let down yet again
The rejection tastes like the grey envelope slipped under your dorm door
the grey comes in the threat, and the insecurity and the fear that comes after
the tip of your tongue tastes grey when you are feeling weak, anxious and scared
The whole of your mouth is filled with the grey of cheap mashed potatoes when truly bored
the sharp greys come when you know a busy and stressful day is coming in the morning
the hazy grey can be found in that just-woke-up taste
The taste of the showerhead when someone else comes in and locks the door behind them, startling and confusing you
the excited amazement can be tasted on the sidewalk on the way to somewhere new
But my favourite grey overall will always be
Heather Grey
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Sitting in Class
Sitting in class
I should be working on an essay
But instead I'm here
Writing something else
Because there is this feeling in my chest
that isn't going away
and usually this helps
but I can't put my finger
on what I'm feeling
Am I dreading turning in this rough draft?
Am I upset I'm paying thousands for this class
where I can't even see the board?
Am I nervous for my performance tonight?
Am I scared that the pain in my throat will grow worse?
Am I excited to see my found-family
see me sing tonight?
Am I nervous that they won't like it?
Am I pissed at the other singers in my choir
who refuse to take this seriously?
Am I angry that my found-family may
not think I'm good
because of a few college students
who take choir as an easy grade
and not because it's something they enjoy
and want to excel at?
But what can I even do to fix that?
How do I resolve this?
It's not a group project, where I can just do their parts for them
Am I wrong for resenting them?
Am I wrong for realizing I hold that anger
and still resenting them knowing I probably shouldn't?
I will feel guilty after we sing
When I tell my found-family that
"I'm not that bad on my own, I wish the rest of the group cared enough to try."
And will the family believe that?
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The Untouchable
Who dares to say i'll never reach out to You?
Who dares to say i'll never see You again?
Who dares to say i'll always be yearning?
Who dares to say i'll be stuck without You forever?
Who dares to say You'll never come back?
Who dares to say i'll be alone always?
Who dares to say i'll be thinking of you for good?
Who dares to say You'll always be in my mind
and my heart
but never in my arms?
i do, of course.
Because You are You, and i am just i
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Drinking for Despair
As I swirl the cup in my hands
the sweet smell wafts into my nose
and my mouth starts to water
my fingers begin to shake
and my knees start to buckle
I know I shouldn't
and I know I will
as I lift the cup to my lips
the smell turns bitter
and my mouth begins to gag as it touches my tongue
my fingers crush the glass
and my knees give out
I knew I shouldn't have
But I knew I would
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Relax and Enjoy
Taking another hit
Gagging down another cap
Swallowing another pill
Inhaling another line
and smiling once again
Taking a deep breath
Gagging on my own laughter
Swallowing your giggles
Inhaling one another's breath
And smiling once again
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Pavement
There's a song that I absolutely love
with pavement being the main metaphor
For how long he'll be there for his muse
and how steady he'll be for them
And I used to think the same
Walking to and from school when I was young
Looking down at the pavement as I was walking
on pavement that was strong and steady
No matter what was going on at home
Or at school,
the miles of pavement between was always the same
As I walk down the same stretch of bike path
beside the river that has now gone dry
and the weeds between it and I
I look down
and see the cracks emerging
the dandelions unfurling in them
I look down into myself as well
and see all the cracks in my own veins
and stretching on my skin
the bruises on my bones
I look back to the pavement as a bike rides past me
bumping and slow
unlike the speed and legato riders
who used to zoom past
And now I'm not so sure of the singer's lyrics
until I see
the ants using the shattered pavement
as their own complicated and jangled sidewalks
compared to the singular crevices
between the squares that used to be their only paths
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A quick apology
Sorry, for some reason my queue got fucked up. I'll be working on fixing it. Posts may be spotty until I figure out what went wrong.
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Goodbye
What's the good in saying goodbye
When you aren't actually leaving
You're still going to be here
stuck in my heart
and mind
against my own will
Everyone who has left me
is still there
forgiven or not
you have your own personal
wrinkle in my brain
and chip in my heart
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Asking for help
Being raised self-sufficient
has it's downsides
Asking for help
feels like defeat
It feels degrading
It makes the brain
anxious
and angry
screaming things
in it's quiet voice
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miles-in-words
As I find poems that I've written in the past
Or write new ones
I will be putting them on here
As a way of grieving my life
or who I used to be
I'm not sure
They're not chronological, obviously
I'm open to questions, comments, reblogs
Maybe I'll reach someone with
similar experiences
Please keep in mind that some of these were
written as young as 8 years old
Or at least that's the oldest I've found so far
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Disinfecting Wipes
Mania again
go go go
do something useful
make others proud
or happy
of course, it's never something
that actually matters all that much
but to the chemical laden brain
that doesn't matter
what matters is the smell
of the disinfecting wipes
taking the brain back
to all those clean houses
filled with happy people
and how their bathrooms always smelled
like disinfecting wipes
and even if you don't realize it
that is what your brain is thinking of
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A snapshot of you
Tattoos can mean so much someone
and not just in the ways most think
Yes, some can represent
dead loved ones
and meaningful subjects
But there can be so much more
Even if to others
your new tattoo
doesn't have a meaning
because it doesn't relate to something
they deem important
That doesn't mean it doesn't have meaning
It could mean many things
It could represent what you liked when you got it
It could represent your mind set when you got it
It could represent your love for the artist
It could represent a snapshot
of you
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Video Games
Now, I don't play video games
not often
I like mobile games sometimes
just not console
My hands rarely feel good on the controller
and idle noises like footsteps or items clicking into place
can sometimes hurt my ears
I can't aim worth a shit
and I don't like the idea of spending hundreds of hours
working towards an ending
But
I'll do it with others sometimes
I usually quit in frustration
But sitting with someone
trying to explain that I'm really bad and I'm sorry
is way better than trying on my own
I don't think I'll ever complete most console games
But I will absolutely start a new game
with someone
just to see and hear
how someone who is good reacts to me
being very not good
I find it is a very effective way
to see the personality of someone
If I immediately frustrate them because I can't look
at mini maps and the sword I'm holding at the same time
then they're probably not someone I wanna see more
But if they laugh and try to direct me in the right way
Or just enjoy watching me wander and play around
I find I enjoy those moments
And that they will accept my shortcomings
A little bit easier
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Stuck again
I don't know why I'm like this
I'm not even feeling down
I don't feel as bad as I used to
and yet
here I am
sitting in bed
curled up
instead of in class where I should be
I just can't seem to make myself leave the room
Why am I here?
Why am I not in class right now?
Why couldn't I just get up and walk to class?
Am I just being lazy?
I don't think so
I want to go to class
and
I know I should be there
But I just can't get up
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Daisies
My general aesthetic
for several years now
has been alt. goth, e-boy/girl stuff.
Probably since middle school, about 5th grade.
But for the last several years
I've learned that I don't hate pink
and girly things as much as I used to
I was simply trying to escape
the cis-girl expectations surrounding me.
I have been desperately trying
to incorporate cute, sexy things into my style
But I've spent so long in blacks and reds and purples
That I have reached several walls in my journey
to remember that just because
I'm not a cis-girl
doesn't mean I can't be girly too
Along with my ongoing alt style
I can't look in the mirror wearing something
low cut or short or pastel
and think I look good
Just because I'm so used to seeing myself
wearing the opposite
Logically, I know I still look okay
But my brain isn't used to it
On top of this
is my crumbling finances
I am one of the youths who get
everything from gifts and hand-me-downs
And I still love every shirt and battle-jacket
that I receive
But one day, I want someone to gift me
A skirt with daisies
A sun dress covered in daisies
A daisy, to be tucked behind my ear
A hair tie with a daisy dangle
A daisy tongue ring
A daisy patch for my jacket
Because I've always loved daisies
But I struggle to express
And people struggle to accept
That I can love dying my hair
Getting piercings
Getting tattoos
Giving tattoos
Doing shrooms
Binding my chest
Wearing chains
Decorating my hand-me-down battle jacket
And also, desperately want to be handed a daisy
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