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An old draft of.... something-or-other found on my phone's notes. dated 08/25/2019 Written because barbecue sauce is yucky and I don't like it
𝔜𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔞 𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔉𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔄𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔢𝔭𝔱, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔥 𝔰𝔬 𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫
My skin wrinkles and stretches. It burns and creaks as the world breathes onto me. I disgust those like you. I writhe on my belly and flop on the ground. I am lost and weak.
How did I spend so long dreaming Thinking I was worthy of...love What disease caused this vile idea to spread in my head that I was anything but unwanted
Who are you? I do not know you. I do not know you vile ways,The way you take pleasure in wounding me so.
I never would have noticed the Abscess on my elbow If they had not pointed it out I strained to see it Red flushing my skin Darker than leather O, you’re right
I am controlled by this Bryiana, What story has my face have told? Her very presence sends a chill of electricity down my spine
Everyday i cross the waters
I want to be a slave. I’ll bear the mark of my master, I’ll wear the chain, I’ll cry myself to sleep at night, I’ll endure the pain, I want to be a slave.
We might show each other love but my hearts too broken to fall for them tricks againLike a gambler in a casino I would always fall to my demise over some crap...
You make me ill, With your kind words And not so secret stares. I feel your gaze on my body. It touches my face, my arms, and my chest. We both know you aren’t hunting for my heart.
I look in the mirror My smile fades Disgust overwhelms me As I go through each day Why am I living? Why am I here? Just to disappoint Living with fear I'm never good enough
Your generalizations on girls Could be a hidden truth of My worth to you, But in your eyes I spot Total opposite of these "hidden truths". Your worth to me seems So much higher than my Worth to you,
Fifteen, my body curved like a question mark as you delegate my presence to your fingers like a Jesus prayer.
Dark nights where pain resides No where to run, no place to hide A young child, a boy of only five A young child, a boy of only five
Each day is just a gift, That's why we call it present, That's why each day we smile, And think things are so pleasant. But deep beneath the surface, Lies all the living secrets,
My thoughts, my words, my fury They are my release, my security My deepest fears, my darkest secrets My writings are ME. I put my thought into my pen Then from my pen to my paper
Passing by those I do not know And those I wish to never know A packed bus never fails to amuse So much decay is put on display Dripping from every pore Ugly and deceptive to the core
Education is hypocritical Education is inconsistent Saying one thing but meaning another