I’m not proud of you anymore
Not like how I said
And I’m frustrated with myself
For letting my nerves control me
I missed my bed
But if it comes with this lack of sleep
I’ll take the floor

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When I dip the air in my ink, the sun always cringes while stars appear. What I am trying to say is that I could show you each letter of every word I have ever written in your favor, but you would still find an excuse to explain your recent novel. And I cannot help but notice now where I have placed you in my life. Do you cringe because I have placed you there, or because you’re yellow when I should have looked for red?

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I’ve counted your eyelashes in my sleep
But you have no smell
I’ve seen your finger tips
Dragging along my skin
But I cannot feel you
Holding me in
Because it’s me
Gluing you to my side
In my dreams
Cutting out images
Your collage treats me well
But you go by
Such a different name

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I didn’t take it for granted
But I wish you didn’t start to

I didn’t watch you in the rain
But I laid in the morning dew

And I didn’t hold your hand
But you were reaching for mine

I didn’t need to - You wanted to

I didn’t take it for granted
But I wish I hadn’t mistook

Palms were meant for reaching
I merely hadn’t looked

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I may seem pathetic at times for my affair with caring. But I have been through my fair share of shit, physically, emotionally, and mentally. And, you know, I’m still here. I’m fucking strong as hell, and I do love myself a lot. So if my flaw is caring too much about being important to another human being, so fucking what. I’ll pride myself on it. I’ll fucking swim in it. And one day, I’ll find someone who isn’t afraid of the fact that I will always be there. 

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I lifted a tale from the shelf
To see its pages already growing in my palms
I misread the words
As if they had already been spoken
Mispronounced the names
But recalled their faces

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