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23/F   
#illhueminati

Poems

cleann98  Apr 2018
Makeup..i
cleann98 Apr 2018
I know a girl who won't give up.
The strongest woman in the world.
She will smile
Without biting her tongue.
She will laugh
Without sadness on her lips.
She will soar
She will fly
In time---

Every single night.
She pains.
She pains.
She dies,
time
til
time
in every single
drawing breath.
Needlessly.
She cracks.
She wounds.
She breaks.
She scars.
Scarily.
Killing herself
Just to fall asleep...
Before she prays.
Makeup---
She pains.
She pains.
Yet she stands.
She tires.
She tries.
Makeup---
She smiles.
Fractured.
Yet still smiles.
Tearless.
Wearless.
Tireless.
But not painless.
Makeup---
She talks.
She pains.
She smiles.
Makeup---
She walks.
She pains.
She runs.
Makeup---
She's strong,
yet her strength
it needs refilling.
For she stands,
it aches,
yet still she has,
anaesthesia.
Makeup---
She succeeds.
Yet it pains,
walking away.
Makeu---
She goes home
Alone.
It hurts.
It hurts.
Yet she drives.
Make---
Cooks food.
Instant made.
It burns.
It burns.
Yet she eats.
Mak---
Brushes her teeth
Looks at a mirror
Seeing herself,
Smudges.
Blurs.
And yet she still
has the power
to close her eyes.
Ma---
And she lies on her bed.
With all the pain in the world.
She doesn't even
have to wash off
the makeup on her face,
she just cries it off...
M---
Before she prays.
Just to fall asleep...
Killing herself
Scarily.
She scars.
She breaks.
She wounds.
She cracks.
Needlessly.
Drawing breath
in every single
time
til
time
She dies
She pains.
She pains.
Every single night.

In time
She will fly.
She will soar.
Without sadness on her lips.
She will laugh
Without biting her tongue.
She will smile,
The strongest woman in the world.
I know a girl who won't give up.
Challenge--- Makeup--- by Imai.
For you, or Cherry, or any girl who cries herself to sleep. Wet pillows won't drown you :) Don't be afraid to cry. You'll be able to stand proud and smile without your makeup soon.
Kaitlyn H  Mar 2021
GROWING paINS
Kaitlyn H Mar 2021
Growing pains…not the ones that hurt because you grew 3 cm tall and everyone at thanksgiving noticed. No, the ones that hurt because your nephew is 17 now and “the system” no longer see him as a kid but as a ****, a beast old enough to take bullets from the back but can’t envision him as the next Obama or the next Mansa Musa. Can’t seem to accept my blackness, **** they barely accept the jews. Growing pains…not the ones that got my hips spreading and my ******* developing. No, the ones that allow you to be thankful somehow, that your daddy was a rolling stone and taught you the ways of the play book, so you could be ready to read through any ******* men feed you. Like, “I know you scared but don’t be baby cause I got something to ease you.” Ruining your fairytale of loyalty, fidelity and men. Growing up to only find out you have daddy issues.
Growing pains, when you realize your narrow-minded perspective as a child gave you false hope as an adult. Thinking I wanted to be like my parents when I grow up. I just had an epiphany, I’m just like them, and that’s what ****** up. Living to metamorphosize into a greater being not just to break this generational curse but to live up to my expectations rather than finding out what’s worse.
Growing pains, digging up the emotional trauma. Discovering my triggers and healing from the past that no longer serves me. Having to navigate my own way to the destination. So, you birthed me, gave me beatings, personally prepped my platter of mental disarray. But I don’t blame you, mama. I forgive you…because you only taught me what you knew. And you taught me what not to be and from that I only grew like a mushroom that flourishes even through **** and still possess a magical hue.
Growing pains, realizing the elephant in the room was louder than any silence I have ever heard. For years, accepting everyone’s lies that turned into words that turned into truth that turned into hurt. Shaping me, molding me like clay, into a prisoner of their society. A prisoner who had to break free. A prisoner held captive for wanting to be an individual. What some would consider a pariah but really just a lost soul looking for a reason to breathe. Making use of this breathing container encapsulating the forsaken child within. Hidden in brown skin. Waiting to feel the liberation.
Never thought a therapist would be an essential part of my living. Never thought in a stranger I would ever find healing. Never expected my mental to be depressed or my feelings to be addressed, I’m just holding on to what’s left like a hoarder I’m obsessed but living that life I won’t progress so here it is…. I…. confess.