SILENT IS THE NIGHT.
Silent is the night,
when everyone's asleep,
No one hears my pain,
no one hears me weep.
Everyone's in dreamland,
and no one will ever see,
How lonely is my night,
how I ache to dream with thee.
@Ambrose Harte
@Scattered Thoughts
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Indiscretion
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I don't believe I was created
To be a bad person.
My soul was forced into this reality,
Burnt by what they called love,
Ripped apart by what you referred to
As family.
To manage the blaze,
I found a flower within the smoke.
A brief reprieve from a world on fire.
You'll have to excuse my sickness;
The way I cough up blood beside you.
To destroy another in the name of
Your own happiness?
I curl beside the flower,
My breathing labored.
It shivers in the destruction.
I don't believe I was created to be
A bad person.
But I don't know if a good person
Would long for the flower,
Rather than fall to the flames.
x
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I can’t let him read my poetry because how could I go back to being strangers with someone who has seen my soul?
-m.k. // words are windows to the soul
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From Brenna Twohy's book, Swallowtail. (Button Poetry, 2019).
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[Image description: A cut-up/found poem. Transcript is below.]
---
my daughter gets older
she learns about my self removal
she learns about my guilt
Taking my daughter to my laser hair removal appt
so she doesn't feel
so she doesn't get older
so she doesn't care about it when Taking laser self removal
my daughter gets older
she learns about hair
she learns she doesn't care about my guilt
she learns she doesn't care about my self removal
and so my daughter gets older
Taking my daughter to my laser hair removal appt
Taking my daughter to my removal
my daughter gets older
my daughter gets older
my daughter gets older
---
on: going no-contact | original post
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it is july and no one loves me, 2022
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Songbird, 2023 🕊️
Pieces of hope for today, tomorrow, and the days after that
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What existed first? The depression or the loneliness? What existed first? The love or the laughter? What existed first? The sadness or the apathy? What existed first? The shock or the panic? What existed first? The loss or the ache? What existed first? You or the face you pretend is yours? The smiles you dont mean and the tears you hide, the insults you bury and that fake silly pride.
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I’m worried that everything I ever thought of him is more than he’ll ever be willing to give me.
-m.k. // firestarter pt. 7
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