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I married a **** survivor
She was terrified and broken
Shaken till the last drop of blood
She can’t even face the mirror now
Now she hates herself for being a girl
Just few seconds had stolen her identity
Her respect, Her pride, Her value, Her existence
Corner of a room was now her place
Tears dried heart soaked smile disappeared
Yes i married a **** survivor!

Believing i could give back her effeminacy
I hold her hands when no one wanted her
Society expelled her,Why? Because she lost virginity
Because she lost her dignity
Because someone forced her played her
Because someone snatched her feminess
I don’t care, i love her and i promise to take care of her
I will bring back her pride her attitude her smile
Hoping i could take her to my world of peace
Yes i married a **** survivor!

I can’t touch her i can’t make her feel comfortable
Suddenly at night she wakes up and cry
That night still haunts her
My beautiful bud was plucked
Crushed and trampled her soul was tampered
I gave her home my family my love
Yet she resists inside of her, still her voice trembles
Still the cruel eyes of world poaches her
Still the comments of anyone shatters her
She tried a lot to move on but that cruel laugh torments her
But now she had her peace for she had hanged herself.
These are the words of a person who married a **** survivor woman and he is describing her fear and pain.
 Oct 2018 stranger
redruMAndTea
I used to have this dream about white umbrellas with red dots and red umbrellas with white dots, and there was a beach with nice sand-- the soft kind that doesn’t feel scratchy on bare thighs.
Maybe a blue woven blanket and a transit radio with rusted edges. But there were never any people.
Except for me.
I was there walking along the too soft sand- barefoot and jubilant.
The waves crashed horizontally- you could see them, but came quickly to the realization that you would never feel them- they only traveled left and right.
And the sun and clouds and very much blue sky would be extremely beautiful-- until a sort of smoke like thought would enter your head. The thought
none of this is real.



I used to have a lot of dreams. But now I’m not so sure when I dream- when exactly I stop dreaming.
It’s like someone pushed a pause button on my ability to sense reality as it is.
It’s a terrible tribulation to attempt to hold focus- my head is a daydream.
Like I'm living in an upside down daydream where nothing is real, yet my actions do in fact have consequences.
Like I am nothing more than a person made up by another mind sent to play poker on the 50" flat screen you just had to buy.
My head is attached to my body but my mind is not. And this body-- my body- is not actually so.



Every memory is disfigured and foggy and seems to make no real connection.
Who am I?
I don’t know and I don’t think I’ll ever know again.
It’s too complex a thought.
Am I saying I like something because I like it- do I truly enjoy it?
Or am I just saying so-
I mean, what do I really like?
Who is this person behind my eyes?
I’m not sure anymore.
Is this actually a poem?
 Oct 2018 stranger
unloved
raindrop
 Oct 2018 stranger
unloved
She was looking at the sky in a hope that at least one raindrop will fall on her dry skin. Because even that meaningless raindrop would mean something to her. She would give everything for that one moment

moment of feeling.
 Oct 2018 stranger
adriana
she was the maker, he was her muse
a creative girl with everything to lose

she colored her canvas with her bleeding heart
she loved him and watched her world fall apart

she got her heart broken but kept a blank face
knowing that there are some mistakes you can't erase

she gave up her art, a lover betrayed
her pure white mind turned a darker shade.
And then there were seven.
 Sep 2018 stranger
Emma Q
Me
 Sep 2018 stranger
Emma Q
Me
I am fire in a lake
I am ice in the sun
I am everything
And nothing
All at once.
I am nothing more than
A girl in the crowd
Nothing more than
A bag of skin,
Blood
And bones
Beneath the clouds.
I live several versions of myself
I am a friend
A sister
A daughter
I am me.
#me
 Sep 2018 stranger
Hannah thomas
I think I'm beginning to understand
That the galaxies under my skin
Were never made for public consumption

That the stars in my eyes
And the moonlight in my hair
Would be more than they could handle

That the planets within my veins
Would remained unexplored
Until the day that HE comes

And gets lost within
My milky way skin
and solar system mind

Too in love with my space
That he never wants to
Come back to the ground

More alien than human
It's the only way he'll survive
That's the only kind of love
I want

The kind that's out of this world
 Sep 2018 stranger
sean wonder
my favorite part of silence is that
she speaks to me

when winter hushes the world
silence greets the rubber of tires to handfuls of snow
resolving the angry roaring of these metal beasts
to purring

when sitting on the rural porch of my grandparent's farm
the voices of the trees are reduced to murmurs
and for some reason it's so much easier to breathe,
to hear myself think

when sounds become null
they leave a hollow space
but silence fills that aperture
with giving smells colors
gifting wet grass the smell of baby blue
and honey the smell of heavy brown

my favorite part of silence is that
she allows me to speak
 Sep 2018 stranger
Mikaila
Easy
 Sep 2018 stranger
Mikaila
It’s just easy for them
Isn’t it?
This couple on the train.
They walked on laughing together
Holding hands
And I felt that familiar something-
Not jealousy
Not envy
But...
Chagrin.
Astonishment.
Incredulity.
Incomprehension.
Looking at them feels like looking at one of those
Impossible pictures
Where the stairs keep going forever in a loop.
It’s just
Easy for them.

It doesn’t hurt anymore, that thought,
But thinking it feels so odd in my mind
When I can’t imagine loving someone without
Shame,
Without pain.
They fit.
These people,
They fit without having to carve anything out.
They fit without punishing each other.
They fit like puzzle pieces cut from the same board-
No worries, they just go together, and that
Is that.
They fit like
“Of course.”
Like breathing.
Neatly.
Simply.
Carelessly.

I can’t imagine what it’s like
I can’t comprehend it-
To fit
Somewhere
Much less to fit somewhere
With someone.
I am always trying to corset myself into this world,
Lungs burning,
Trying to remain small enough to squeeze by
Catching myself by the wrist to keep from reaching
For anything.
And if there seems to be a spot where I might be able to exist as I am

It is always

Occupied.

Like a shiny pinprick
That thought hurts-
Not like the others it is newly cut
And still ******.
The idea that maybe there is a home for me
And that maybe I was too late for it.

They’re laughing.
He says something clever,
Passes a hand along the small of her back
And she leans into it,
Smiling because she loves that he wants to touch her innocently.
They seem to exist behind glass.
Not for the first time I wonder
If I could just slip into that life
Like a drop into an ocean
I want it badly
I want it stupidly
And I examine all the parts of myself,
All the edges and cracks,
All the things I’ve worked so hard to protect and repair.
It is not a welcome sight-
I am not a home
I am like an old ruin
Full of murmurings and cold spots
Full of dusty sunlight.
I sigh,
Knowing the secret I keep so poorly-
That if I really had a choice to be otherwise
I would have already made it.

I couldn’t reach them if I ran for a thousand years,
They are too far away.
They walk off the train, arms linked
Talking about nothing
And I watch them go
Like a hallucination,
Like a mirage in the desert.

Her perfume smells like forgetfulness
And it lingers.
This is a poem about how it feels as a gay woman to see a straight couple on the subway.
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