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i draw with silver
lines, x's and spots
under a sleeve
so i never get caught

my canvas is my skin
and so with the blade i drag
across my peach paper
so they won't be mad

i'm sorry, mom
i'm sorry, dad
i'll never be the son you wanted to have
perfect grades,
happy and smart

i'm so sorry...
i'm sorry i have to tear us apart
god, i'm so sorry
last time was really close
i'm doing better now
i promise

just don't look under my sleeve
and it'll all be okay
 Jun 14 Lumin Guerrero
Liana
RSD
Every little rejection
Every "I can't"
"Maybe"
Feels like I opened my chest
Giving them access to my heart
And they took it out
Twisted it
And put it back in bleeding
Rejection sensitive dysphoria is something I've always struggled with, even as a little kid. I know rationally that they don't hate me and aren't truly rejecting me, but I just feel like absolute **** every time. I'm not diagnosed with anything, but it makes me feel better about myself to think it's something medical and not just me ******* and being dramatic. Also, it's quite precise to what I feel sometimes so I call it that. Idk but yeah. Love you all ❤️❤️❤️
That their words make me smile
That their comments made the world seem better
That thinking of them lightened up my day
To all the cool poets on this site
Is this a safe place
are you a safe place
for me to set down
the race, the pace,
to unburden?

That’s still challenging to do.
And what about you?
Am I those things too?
Perhaps we could be that for each other.
Except, what exactly am I unburdening?
I think you have depth there
for me to hear.

I always feel that I am solo.
Always need to be prepared,
not to rely on the other.
You are, actually,
the closest to me,
but also, you’re quite far.

You’re away in action.
Or, through inaction.
And I have so much to set.
So I resort to self.
It feels stark,
but,
reliable.
I wrote four words today.
Just four.

I bleed my hours into them.
Each syllable
I
weigh.

Like lifting stones from a dry riverbed,
turning each
over
and
over,
until one feels just right
in my hand.

Carefully
carving,
studying
and playing
with each one:
  Which catches the light just right?
  Which plays well with the others?
  What are you trying to tell me?

But mostly,
I discard.

Four words.

All my labor for the day--
Just four words.

It was a good day.
(Part of the 'Four Words' collection. The other work is called 'I Read Four Words Today')
I love you
I said but received no reply
you're angry at me I can tell
it breaks me inside
but I pretend all is well
you promised
I plead
but that just makes it worse
I shrink down in myself
it seems like a curse
I cant stand my ground
or fight for respect
so I'll beg for you love
give you my body to connect
I look in the mirror
and hate myself more than before
because the parts you called pretty
lie broken on your bedroom floor
you don't seem to realize
you don't seem to see
so ill shut my mouth
cause the problem must be me
its not about the one mistake its when you make it a habit
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