Not proofread, just raw.
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Not proofread, just raw.
Not proofread, just raw.
Intentionally an acrostic poem.
Not proofread, just raw.
I understand my role. A malevolent being that haunts, never killed, just resting.
Even with that, I too understand that rather than a shift, we combine,
leading to sorrow.
A deep rooted thing, once under all the masks. Come undone, lying as if stillness will do anything.
You’re so tired.
2 years. You won’t need anybody else after that. You don’t need to talk to the people who reject your existence anymore.
You just want to be seen for what you are.
You just want to be seen as anything but a girl.
Don’t touch them,
They’re touch starved,
But I know you haven’t gotten over them.
Not now, not never. For some damn reason they’ll never know, you never will.
They never fucking wanted you.
Get over yourself.
I did not reread the poem “The Day After” until I had finished writing this out of fear I would accidentally steal ideas from it without noticing. The title inspired me to write it.
My feathers remain unpreened,
though they’re starting to itch.
“the ache, feeling something for a line of text, but your own wings are just deadweight, itchy. maybe you should preen, tell people why you lie to their faces.”
Art by Palefern.
“slowly means never, but you ripped it off before i could even hide, holding my hand through the words that crawl their way out”