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Literature Text
Don't call me beautiful.
This isn't some over the counter form of self-deprecation. It's truth in a full-informed prescription. Maybe you've figured this out by now and I'm wasting my words telling you, but darling, I'm an acidic mess and I promise I'll burn holes through your best intentions. Read this as the label marked "warning." Or maybe I'm a battlefield and honestly, blow by blow, you're killing me. But usually, I'm simply a one-way road that dead-ends at your doorstep and I'm crashing into you.
I swear we do the worst things to each other in the worst and most nonsensical ways.
Don't pretend I'm clever.
I'm just recycled words from recycled thoughts from recycled people. Not one piece of me is remotely original. The sad truth is I'm more horrible than I seem. I'm a wildly mismatched collection of sad songs on scratched cds, half-read books and unraveling cardigans all accumulating in a giant mess meant to impress the next person and then the next. Until I realize that I just spent a year being someone I'm not and now who am I really if all I was to begin with was a second rate version of someone else's someone else. We can sit here and act like I'm something special that the world's never seen, but really I'm just nothing and the sad harsh truth of the matter is I'm not deserving of your praise. I can't smile with my eyes or bite my lip without making it bleed.
I can't make you laugh and I can't make you love me, because I can't do anything.
Don't tell me I'll be okay.
I'm not misunderstood. I get it. Everyone feels like me who feels like you who feels like someone they met last night. And I know everyone's had their heart broken and we all pretend like it doesn't matter--that it's more of the same. But honestly, I don't have the words to tell you how this really feels. It's like I have my walls up. My doors locked, the windows shut, and the curtains are drawn like no one is home. That is how blank I feel. I wish I had the words for you but I'm empty.
And words are just words without their meaning.
This isn't some over the counter form of self-deprecation. It's truth in a full-informed prescription. Maybe you've figured this out by now and I'm wasting my words telling you, but darling, I'm an acidic mess and I promise I'll burn holes through your best intentions. Read this as the label marked "warning." Or maybe I'm a battlefield and honestly, blow by blow, you're killing me. But usually, I'm simply a one-way road that dead-ends at your doorstep and I'm crashing into you.
I swear we do the worst things to each other in the worst and most nonsensical ways.
Don't pretend I'm clever.
I'm just recycled words from recycled thoughts from recycled people. Not one piece of me is remotely original. The sad truth is I'm more horrible than I seem. I'm a wildly mismatched collection of sad songs on scratched cds, half-read books and unraveling cardigans all accumulating in a giant mess meant to impress the next person and then the next. Until I realize that I just spent a year being someone I'm not and now who am I really if all I was to begin with was a second rate version of someone else's someone else. We can sit here and act like I'm something special that the world's never seen, but really I'm just nothing and the sad harsh truth of the matter is I'm not deserving of your praise. I can't smile with my eyes or bite my lip without making it bleed.
I can't make you laugh and I can't make you love me, because I can't do anything.
Don't tell me I'll be okay.
I'm not misunderstood. I get it. Everyone feels like me who feels like you who feels like someone they met last night. And I know everyone's had their heart broken and we all pretend like it doesn't matter--that it's more of the same. But honestly, I don't have the words to tell you how this really feels. It's like I have my walls up. My doors locked, the windows shut, and the curtains are drawn like no one is home. That is how blank I feel. I wish I had the words for you but I'm empty.
And words are just words without their meaning.
Literature
Don't let her whisper your name.
I would be lying if I said I forgot.
Lying, if I said I don't want to feel it again.
It's irresistible.
It's uncontrollable.
It's almost unexplainable.
It's our dance.
I never had to teach.
She never needed to learn.
The synchrony was always perfect.
From the first second to the last one.
Every single time.
A simple touch,
a simple breath,
a simple desire,
and the world would explode.
So we were in a universe apart.
Dancing, an unknown song.
We never rehearsed it, it never went wrong.
It's just like I said.
The synchrony was always perfect.
As if we could feel each other.
As if we were created for each other.
Do you beli
Literature
you're the princess, i'm a pea
My life is a fairytale:
I'm the fairytale misfit.
While Rapunzel grew her hair,
while the Prince awaited her,
I was the poor horse
Prince Charming rode.
beneath royalty,
less than charming
While Cinderella attended the magic ball,
while her Prince saved her glass slipper,
I was the poor pumpkin,
beautiful for a night,
then reversed, rotting
While Jasmine groomed her pampered tiger,
while Aladdin wished his dreams to Reality,
I was the poor magic carpe
Literature
.tell me a lie_
she said, "Lie to me"
he said, "I love you"
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then you'll know how I feel.
this needs work and work and more work.
this needs work and work and more work.
© 2011 - 2024 paperheartsyndrome
Comments315
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I tried reading it without breathing all in one sitting...and I felt a sensation, a feeling I have felt for five straight years of my life, from middle school to the middle of high school. Depression. I was an insecure boy all over again, trying to push the next day away, to get back under the covers. To change every single aspect of myself daily to suit those around me, trying to be a block of unfeeling, uncrackable stone and failing, failing, failing, failing...I want to thank you for this piece of writing. In time, things have started to finally go the way I want them to go, and I hope the same is true for you. I wish you all the happiness in the world.