Joined: September 27, 2010
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Quotes by justkiddiing

Show of your pages
and I will read you like a book

And I'll cry over your tragedy
I made a house out of myself
for you while I am a drifter
by nature

what if you don't like my new walls built for your comfort
what if you don't think the funature is comfotatble
or your taste, what if you're a nomad yourself
and my insides stay empty

they told me to never make a home of a person
I never realised that others wouldn't dare to live in me aswel
because it's scary that your roof may pack up themselves
and leave

No welcomemats and fireplaces can eliminate that fear
if you show someone the low costs and nice garden
they'll wonder why nobody else lives there before
not realising that the house was only built for them

when the nomad leaves
the drifter has to realise being a house is not it's nature
but I'll keep the door there
in case you change your mind
this paper is my shrink
makes me confess my sins
and the tragedies that came over me

This is my written word rehab
learning to let go of my addicion
with my sadness and loneliness

Learning to stand tall by meself
exposed for others who want to
read about my journey

No I'm not happy, not proud
not yet strong or brave or smart
but it's a work in progress

pretending is half the work
until I get there I can be honest here
about the fear of being unnoticed

fear of being alone
or unloved
or me
When our song slowed down
I realised it was my song
all along

I aways bottle it up
but now I pour out the love
for myself

Because you where killing me
kindly and my skin is thicker but it burns
all the same

and you will get better
in your never new year
and I'm gone

We tought it was a love song
but I realised it was mine
all along

Men only kneel for gods and kings
because of fear so
Do not kneel for me
Take my hand by your side

Let the altar made for me
be devoid of blood of goats or virgins
Don't bring me flowers
let them grow in the wild

If you wash my hair 
I will wash your back
Learn how to spell love
as giving instead of offering

To adore me is the same
as to pitty me
Do not adore me
Take my hand by your side

If I could summerize myself
I would, but I can't so I wont
I think a lot of it boils down to controle
and the contole is because 
I haven't learned how to love
myself, not yet

love, once my dear friend
has become a stranger
to me, would I recognise
it when it walked my way?

If love is a rush, an blush
more fysical than mental
then I might have found it
but it would be found in every
dark ally where you would flee

if love is the same routine
comfort and unsurprising
then I might have found it
but it's tearing me apart
because there's no respect

neither of these are love
so the search continues
back to the feeling of that
boy that put my hair behind
my ear and held his breath
to not startle the beauty
Hang yourself, you will regret it; do not hang yourself, and you will regret that too; hang yourself or don’t hang yourself, you’ll regret it either way; whether you hang yourself or do not hang yourself, you will regret both. This, gentlemen, is the essence of all philosophy.
In this fairytale called life
I am just as much the princes in the tower
as the dragon guarding it

don't you think
you can ever slay the beast
it came here for my protection
and is here to stay

you may think I'm a prisoner
to my own fear and anger
but they give me wings
and you arived too late

I wont appolagize for 
my sharp teeth and fire
as long as you long for
the soft body that holds it

so tame my dragon
learn it language and calm it
and you get the princes
as your reward

It's always pushing
and pulling
and pushing again

pushing, because,
I'm a scared little girl
I want to be alone and
bear this misery

pulling, because,
I'm also afraid of being
lonely in the dark and
I want to borrow your light

and pushing, again,
because the inconsisency
of my being is what I am 
made of

I'm shaking the world around me
to see what falls off
the only one that dissapoints me
is me

Dear Angel:

These men. They come hard. Fast
as grains of sand in a windstorm.
Not been myself lately. Been jumping rivers,
collecting knives. Collecting sedatives. Been fishing with my tongue
in the throats of men. Find dead things stashed between their teeth.
I opened my shirt. My chest. Opened doors and cabinets, windows.
Opened skin, opened thighs. I’ve said it honest as I know how:
This is me. This is all. Isn’t much. I am heart and breath and skin and bleed.
Sometimes tornado, sometimes lullaby.
 They take, Angel. They take.
They say too much. Words made from lead.
Marriage. Children. Today. Love. Ready. Yes.
Angel, why do they leave?
Been ignored so hard my skin turned to wood.
My tongue is salt. They got me, Angel. Forgotten jewelry in a drawer.
Ornaments in boxes. Old trophy in a basement.
Just lay in those sheets, woman.
Just lay quiet. I’ll get to you after you repent. Once you hate yourself good enough.

(Funny how it doesn’t hurt when you’re the one doing the leaving.)
Even the men we love, Angel. They get busy. Get girls. Get drunk.
Get distraction. Get bus. Get plane. Get paid. Get loose. Get gig. Get
handball. Get tired. Get lost. Get MFA. Get laugh. Get gone.
Angel, when I doused the rafters in kerosene and went in
with the blowtorch, after the corpses were dragged out and buried
I thought staying right meant staying honest.
Just be truth and you can’t get hurt, right?
Said a girl made of splinters isn’t built for love.
But they tried, anyway, Angel. They tried. And turns out, I can.
I can love hard as shrapnel. So hard I melt skin.
There was a night in the sheets – the sheets that once were his –
another man’s heat and me, a dogpile of convulsion, lurch and moan.
I sobbed because he was gone, and that man held me, Angel.
Held me like a father holds rage, arms tight across as lifejacket.
Shuddered like that ’til daybreak. He whispered, I want this wreckage.
Now, his mouth is full. Gold strands of hair. Got condoms. Got limos.
Got whiskey and football and steak to fry.
He walked me in the rain. Said my skin was perfect as daisy petals.
Talked me off that bridge. Made me laugh, Angel.
Laugh—even when the city and my face were set on fire.
I lay in my sheets. It’s always the sheets. The soak and stain of old linen.
Lay myself flat, spread myself thin. Flatten hips and breasts, roll outward
like a layer of seeping cream. Get thin and thin and thin.
Reach for the edges of the mattress, pray to be thin as paper,
thin as invisible. Thin as never. Angel, it’s so empty here. Always empty.
Always fighting some man in the street. Always fighting.
No one wants the wreckage, Angel. No one strong enough.
I’m afraid of the river, Angel. Afraid it’s going to start calling again.
Afraid I’ll wake up tomorrow and my front door will open right out
onto the entrance of that bridge. I’m afraid of the fish, Angel.
How their tails will pull me under. I’m afraid of the boats, their propellers,
their life vests. I’m afraid of the corpses, all the girls never found.
Afraid of the men, Angel. How they tug at the meat.
How sharp their teeth.

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