deadbeur

[deadbeur]

no one ever sticks around

when life happens

when you can’t be happy

when you have actual emotions

she once told me

that she never wished for me to cry like that

but now i’m sobbing in my bed

over her

because it’s over for us

[deadbeur]

she asked asked if i loved her

i paused and didn’t know what to say

yes in a way

but i only loved the way she loved me

i loved her love

i never loved her

but i saw her heart breaking under my hesitation

so i bit my toungue and smiled

yes i whispered

for the other i admitted

not in the way she wants

and perhaps everything was better for it

[deadbeur]

art is a cruel mistress

you are at your best in the pits of despair

onlookers ooh and aah at your mastery

while you writhe in pain

i began painting.

at first it made me feel alive

like a little monster inside of me and exploding all over a paper

but then it begins to consume

your happiness is dictated based on how well your last piece turned out

your quality of pieces determined by how utterly distressed you are

i took on writing

it felt better. at first

when the ideas came like floods

when i worked on three stories at once

but then it stopped,

but i wanted to keep going,

i tore out my brain

searching the ridges for ideas

and in the pain i blossomed

then was sewing

and poetry

and dance

and it all left me in pieces

beautiful pieces

but pieces nonetheless

[deadbeur]

i was created in your image

a carbon copy

you used to smile when i was called “mini you”

back when you felt love

back when i was docile

but now?

you look at me with disgust

you poke and prod

you try to mold me back into the little girl

the one you could love