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Literature Text
I was armed with half a deck of emotions, two thirds of a heart and eyes of a broken mirror that offered no protection to my soul. I wanted to talk about it often and whenever I needed to, the words would tangle in my mouth, come out as a compliment of a shirt, an idea that had no relevance, a conversation about the weather. I was eighteen. I wanted to be stronger, brilliant, bright like a comet in the sky. Instead, I learnt about how beds could be the most loathed places in the world, bathrooms were meant to be soaked in blood...and men with eyes like knives sometimes used them against people they loved.
I was armed with shards of strength, a misplaced sense of determination and the kind of bravery that only the damned can have. Words haunt, especially when all you have to your name is a broken little mind, a need for validation and an honest fear of losing someone you love. I was twenty. I wanted to make sure that the world around me realised I existed, I wanted to shine for my sake, my daughter's sake. Instead, I fell to pieces when it came to protecting her, felt the weight of a foot my stomach's size and realised that there was little justice in the under heart of a broken man.
I was armed with broken experiences, episodes of heartfelt sorrow and fragility that made my therapist question my mental balance. The burdens of my past were shouldered by the weakness in my knees, a shaking they associated with post traumatic stress and eyes that would better belong on the face of a much older woman. I was twenty two. Idealism, familial ties and too many a cruel woman had found its place squarely between our bed and hearts. I loved him too easily. It took time, the loss of two more children and six months of healing before I realised the truth. No one told me that love was connected with veins and veins with the life that was only lent to us for a short while before it was reclaimed by the ones who gave it to us.
You called me weak. Alone. Sad. Because I had tried to trust despite myself, learned to love beyond my abilities, reached for the stars when my feet were rooted to the ground. And for a while, a short while, I believed you. I made the sadness a habit. I made you a habit. And I was yours out of habit. And a habit is not a good thing. Good things do not hurt you, or make you feel guilty...or break your heart. Habits are vices. And they follow you around for the rest of your life.
I was yours out of habit. But habits can be easily broken. I choose to break the habit.
I choose freedom. Do your worst, I dare you. For this time, I am armed with clear eyes, a soul that is my sword and a full heart.
I was armed with shards of strength, a misplaced sense of determination and the kind of bravery that only the damned can have. Words haunt, especially when all you have to your name is a broken little mind, a need for validation and an honest fear of losing someone you love. I was twenty. I wanted to make sure that the world around me realised I existed, I wanted to shine for my sake, my daughter's sake. Instead, I fell to pieces when it came to protecting her, felt the weight of a foot my stomach's size and realised that there was little justice in the under heart of a broken man.
I was armed with broken experiences, episodes of heartfelt sorrow and fragility that made my therapist question my mental balance. The burdens of my past were shouldered by the weakness in my knees, a shaking they associated with post traumatic stress and eyes that would better belong on the face of a much older woman. I was twenty two. Idealism, familial ties and too many a cruel woman had found its place squarely between our bed and hearts. I loved him too easily. It took time, the loss of two more children and six months of healing before I realised the truth. No one told me that love was connected with veins and veins with the life that was only lent to us for a short while before it was reclaimed by the ones who gave it to us.
You called me weak. Alone. Sad. Because I had tried to trust despite myself, learned to love beyond my abilities, reached for the stars when my feet were rooted to the ground. And for a while, a short while, I believed you. I made the sadness a habit. I made you a habit. And I was yours out of habit. And a habit is not a good thing. Good things do not hurt you, or make you feel guilty...or break your heart. Habits are vices. And they follow you around for the rest of your life.
I was yours out of habit. But habits can be easily broken. I choose to break the habit.
I choose freedom. Do your worst, I dare you. For this time, I am armed with clear eyes, a soul that is my sword and a full heart.
Literature
In Case You're Bored
In Case You're Bored:
For those who are bored with seeing teenage relationships on the FP. Here is a bonus, Disturbed-style, Chen piece to entertain you all.
What Lives Inside of Me:
Locked away inside
Dreaming of evil rising up in me
Let me play with your-
I will break through the walls of sanity
Leave me pure inside
Take away all of my humanity
Will I kneel before-
The corpses stained by the need for your sanctity?
Will you be mine? Or will I break you again-
The beast is swelling up inside of me
A temptuous lie, from the moment that you denied
The demon that you knew you grew to be
The swirling mist of a blood red fog...
De
Literature
Never trust ladies with scythes for smiles.
i.
these god-hands are barbwire's,
snagging & scarring everything
they touch.
ii.
black tongue bleeding sweet ichor
along the guarded walls
of skeletal frames.
iii.
'i want to taste heaven.
it rests there,
just beneath your bones.'
iv.
he is a god dog
made of scythes & scalpels,
sewn together with weak thread.
v.
and she is
Literature
I tried
I tried to count my scars,
But I couldn't tell
Where one began
And another ended.
So I tried to count the cuts,
But I couldn't, because
Blood smeared across my skin,
Connecting them like a thin,
Red veil of pain.
And so I cried.
I cried a single tear, because
When I need to cry,
I can't.
Finally, I sat down,
And put pen to paper,
Or fingers to keys.
And tried to write my emotions.
But I couldn't, because
I don't know how to tell the world
What I feel like,
When I have no right.
I looked from the blood stained tissues,
Across my torn body,
Into my own eyes, reflected perfectly by the mirror before me.
Another tear was p
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This... it might be the mild sleep-deprivation but I cannot find the right words to describe how beautiful and evocative this is.