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The High LifeBeing high is an experience that cannot be explained.
You have to take that hit to feel it yourself.
That overwhelming tingling sensation in every cell of your body,
It's like all of you is vibrating lightly.
That loss of control in your mind,
You think of something to say,
And end up saying something else and thinking
"Why can't I form a sentence?"
But on the outside your just giggling.
I would never promote the use of marijuana,
In fact, I hate the shit.
I hate not knowing what my brain will do next,
I hate not being able to control my hands,
Or my words.
I hate feeling like I'm constantly underwater,
Or maybe in a trance,
Like when you just wake up from a deep sleep and you aren't concious yet.
It's kind of like that,
But for hours.
Then when you come off the high,
You wish you were right back on.
You feel tired,
Maybe even a little sick if you were that high.
When you're high,
You have no self control.
What's not to hate about myself.I am not skinny,
I am not tall,
I have acne,
I have a crooked smile.
I'm not always smiling,
And my hair can be a mess,
I'm not always liked,
I'm always stressed.
I have no real friends,
No one to be there for me,
I'm always ignored,
I always get asked to leave.
I'm not cared about,
By anyone else except my family,
Society sees me as a burden,
What's so wrong with me?
People say I'm fat,
I'm a bitch,
I'm a whore,
I'm too short,
I'm a whale,
I'm everything they hate.
So I guess if everyone hates me,
What's not to hate about myself?
I had to say hello.She was guarded, love never was an option. She was the woman alone at the cafe, her hair in a bun with glasses on.
No one bothered to say hello, until one day a young man walked by the cafe window and saw her sitting there, reading a novel in the sunlight. Somehow the light glowed off of her skin in such a way, that he had to say hello.
He turned right around and marched into that cafe and walked right up behind her. But he was frozen, she seemed so confident, so sure of herself sitting there with her mocha. He couldn't muster up the words to say to her, nothing seemed right.
He stood there for a good five minutes, she never noticed because she was so deeply engrossed with her novel.
Finally he felt that confidence she exuded hit him in a big wave.
"Fifteen seconds" he thought, "That's all I need to win her heart."
He sat across from her and looked at her gorgeous face. She was so plainly beautiful that it almost took his breath away. Her cheekbones held high upon her face, and her lip
All I have is silence. You always came back. After every fight, every stressful moment, every time. You always called me to say:
"Baby, I'm sorry. I don't like when we fight." Then we would talk about other things. You always would text me, or apologize. Or maybe forgave my apology when I gave one, which was often.
But this time feels different. It feels wrong.
Because after this fight I didn't get a call.
I didn't get a text.
I didn't get an apology, or forgiveness.
I got silence.
I feel numb. That expression people say "You never know what you have 'till it's gone" is so terribly true to me now.
I miss when you would make me smile, I miss hearing your voice, I miss our funny conversations.
I even miss our constant fighting, I always felt like no matter what we would fight for each other. Because we both cared about the other so m
I'd like to compliment that smile.He threw her away without a care,
Like the way you feel in the summer air,
Not a glance back,
He didn't care and that was a fact.
At first she had nowhere to go,
Her life dragging by so slow,
Then she found a lonely child,
Looking for a purpose or a smile.
She came on in,
Said "Hello my friend"
The child looked around,
But not a soul to be found.
He then saw a woman on the street,
She had confidence in her feet,
He brightened his frown,
And resembled a clown.
"Excuse me miss" He stuttered,
"But I wanted to compliment that smile" his heart fluttered,
The woman blushed,
"Thank you oh so much!"
They walked off together,
As she sat by with her eyes getting wetter,
"Why everyone else, but not me?" She groaned,
She felt she will always be alone.
Truly AloneLoneliness hurts.
I haven't felt truly alone for two whole years and then bam.
I walked alone through the halls, keeping my head down
Trying to hide my puffy eyes,
My red face.
I held my books close, and kept my hood up.
You never realize how alone you are,
Until your crying.
No one talks to you,
No one tries to hug you,
No one even looks at you.
Thats when you know that you have no true friends.
No one there to hold your hand and keep their shoulder open,
Just for your tears.
No one there to tell you its okay.
Thats the day I realized that I was all alone,
And after it was over,
I didn't trust any of my friends the same again.
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stop
spewing pretty metaphors at me,
for with each elaborate comparison,
I feel a bit more
detached from this world
And maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,
but would you be
if you felt like the entire universe
was resting upon your shoulders,
and someone was just there saying:
But you’re stronger than the powerful beats
of a butterfly’s wings
And maybe I do need more confidence,
but would you exuberate it
when the part you hated most about yourself
were the freckles that have speckled your face for years,
and someone was just there muttering:
They’re not flaws,
but rather stars that form constellations
Yes, I can’t help but hate
all those unrealistic metaphors
you choose to pelt at me when I’m low,
yet the irony is,
I know that those beautiful words
are realistic in your eyes,
So I can’t hate you.
dark circlesi haven't slept well in 14 days
my eyes droop pretty colors
'50 shades of purple and grey,
they're bags and they're designer'
making jokes is how i cope
with chapped lips and constant chap-stick
it tastes like honey and mint
i laugh and say i'm addicted.
hooded lids and sleepy smiles
during lunch at subway
my friends ask if I'm okay
I say that I'm just tired.
but really when I see him with her
my heart sinks to the tiles
she's pretty and witty and sure as hell she can sing
and i'm just a loud bone-collector.
when I see her with him,
dancing and laughing and grinning,
the ring on her finger
laughs at my singularity.
for as much as i lie and as much as i try
my loneliness still creeps in,
because no matter how much they protest,
i'm still the lowly fifth-wheel.
walking behind them on sidewalks
that are wide, but built for four
smiles and laughs when they look back
but the frown creeps evermore.
pelvis peaks through paper-thin skin
and knuckles white and pale
my ribs are empty, my bo
Clear WristA clear wrist, barren of scars,
as opposed to skin sauntered in marks,
tells a trickier story than it's soiled and raw,
uncaring, unkempt counter part.
Bravery, I think it holds,
the strength to bare unimaginable loads
of pain and suffering through endless times,
and withstanding the agony of sleepless nights.
Some think it is fear, the reluctance to cut,
but I believe it opposite, it show courage and guts.
To bear your pain without a nick on your wrist,
is like a solider braving his terrain while being torn limb from limb.
Agonizing as it is, to hide your pain,
you do it so well, and no attention you'll gain.
At the end of the day, it's not cry for attention,
rather a cry for the victory that's silently mentioned.
Your scars are those not self inflicted,
and despite the gnawing intention,
to harm yourself and ease your pain,
the scars you earn are rightfully gained.
In a room of those who have jumped the gun,
and left traces of blood deep in their arms,
do not be tempted to do the sam
specter boys have always looked best sinkinghe says,
i want to count all 206 &
feel the notches of your ribs -
i want you, weary boy, to
phase yourself down while
you are burning inside out.
i will seethe inside your skull
like thoughts, like cigarette filters;
you will thank me as i molder in your marrow.
Moira (Excelsior)Moira (Excelsior)
hands clap over my eyes
like a chain clasp
linking lace around my neck.
and our clutch.
splitting into a wide upward curve,
canines and incisors cut through screens.
time rotates in a downward degree
360 degrees infinitely,
but the days are confined to finite.
and if i could, i'd connect the 12 lines
and walk along them endlessly.
i'd lose the ability to dream
and i'd never have to mingle
with the cousin of death.
living forever as a verb,
until time laps around the track
about 10 million times before
it has lost its legs.
i don't wanna sleep,
i want to dream
in an empirical reality.
hold the old time in my hand
and let the prospect bleed
into the prophecy.
These Faded KeysOf all the keys I click
As we speak each day,
It's the back arrow
That's faded most
These white letters
Would surely tell you,
I reply to everything -
But the key reading "enter"
Will be the one to explain
Why it still looks new
I want you to know
Just how much I care,
But I don't want to be close
Out of the fear of losing you
But please remember:
I dedicate these words to you,
Sharing them to the world
Rather than clicking away
At the faded key ~
Today.Today I spent my lunch in a bathroom stall.
No one asked where I was.
No one asked if I was okay.
Today, I cried silently.
No one gave me a hug.
No one gave me a tissue.
Today I walked all alone.
No one said hello.
No one even looked at me.
Today I had to endure pain all by myself.
No one would have cared if I died or not.
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