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Heavy Smile

How can you tell me

that I am not weak

when on my darkest days

I cannot even lift

the corners of my lips?

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Dream You

I dreamed of you again

last night

your distant shadowland

hovered upon my silhouette

long enough to leave

a distinct impression

on the cold bedsheets.

It’s been years

yet the curve of your jaw

still holds my memory

the curl in your hair

is still my favourite shape

and the edges of your tongue

are still familiar weapons.

My dream you

had a dream her:

her eyes still unforgiving

full of pity

like your smile

with arms that intertwine yours

and lips pressed closely

to the ear I used to kiss.

When I woke

I felt a familiar ache

under my rib cage

but this time

I also felt a little lighter.

Perspective

I wonder how different

all the versions of myself are

that live in the minds of other people, 

wonder how I measure

in the eyes of each acquaintance,

passing stranger,

one-time-colleague,

almost friend,

I have ever known. 

I read somewhere 

that no matter what you do, 

you will always be plagued 

by those who hate you,

spite you,

resent you,

unconsequently suffocate you

with back-handed comments 

that leave your throat dry. 

What the article didn’t mention

was the amount of people 

who will appreciate your tenderness,

your raw and bleeding heart,

your stupid puns, 

your inability to dance 

with an insistence of doing it anyways;

they will see you as so much more

than your bedroom mirror. 

I wonder how different 

all the versions of myself are

that live in the minds of other people,

and I wonder if there’s any

 I would like. 

– remarks