It’s okay that you don’t love me.
I’m not hurting.
It doesn’t bother me that you don’t read what I write.
Sliding razor blades across my skin helps me feel (better).
Stopping helps me feel (better).
I’m getting used to us being apart.
This hurts less now than it used to.
We can be friends.
That didn’t hurt my feelings.
I can barely remember him.
I forgive myself.
I hardly ever think about you.
That turns me on.
I told you everything.
Just one more.
I’m not crying.
This isn’t wrong.
I learned to be content with what I do have.
I’m a poet.
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Providing a voice for the voiceless. Poets, artists, writers...sound off! Grinding through the dumpster fire that can be life...possibly get published
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Poet and Artist ✫ Jay Mora-Shihadeh
“make your name a way of life and live it wild and brave. Give back to yourself what mental health derived to take” ~ Richard Charles Stevens
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