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Rough Edges

I am not a well-rested morning.I am a sleepless night, the scream of a fire alarm at 2am.There is no Northern Star in my galaxy of wrong turns and sudden stops, just mile after mile of winding road. I am not the softness of a sunrise, or the sound of breaking waves; I am hot sand at noon, cotton sheets against sunburned skin.You want the thrill of a beckoning glance, but I am a roll of the eyes and an impatient sigh.Always a little too much, but never quite enough; I’m not as easy as you wanted me to be.— molliefox, Everything Else

By Alexia VillanuevaPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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I loved to sleep with the window open. Rainy nights were the best of all: I would open the window and put my head on the pillow and close my eyes and feel the wind on my face and listen to the trees sway and creak. — Neil Gaiman (via quotemadness)

My soulmate is

Lost in the rough edges of

Parchement.

Caught in the crossfires

Of army guns, gas masks,

Broken bones, and burned

Love notes.

I don’t believe in love like the

Back of my hand that

Is covered in sharpie

I love the platanic love

I have for others,

When I write poetry

With the form of

Written diets and

Diet pills.

They sit on my

Dresser telling me

“They love me, they

Cherish my body.”

A eating disorder

Made out

Of swedish fish

And seeweed

Desires.

I pop them down

My throat like

Clown that blows

Up balloon animals

In the form of

The rainbow.

I cook them

With ever sweet

I taste on my native

Tongue that twists

And slips on payapa

On my forgien

Lips.

I carry diets on

Me like extra

Weight, extra

Pounds that

Carry on my

Heart like

Sweet strawberry

Tarts.

Kiss me with

Kisses of hershey

Chocolates and

Roasted marshallows.

I dig deep into

My throat, naked

And ruined.

I am my own cemetery

As my diet

p

ills

Sit

on my dresser

Singing to me,

“We love you, take

Another. Will make

You feel better.”

So I pop another

In the magic

mirror

Of

my own horrors.

heartbreakinspirational
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