NAPS
i don't wanna sit still, look pretty.
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indie oc.
penned by FAYE

art credit


4 generations of [Don’t make me say it]

writesoftlytay:

{content warning for implied alcoholism, drug use, sexual assault, and childhood trauma}

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Don’t make me relive those nights
When you came stumbling in
Reeking of depravity

I don’t cry anymore,
I don’t expect you to be sorry

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Grandmama dressed her liquor
In purple faux velvet,
You dress yours
In brown paper bags

Maybe poetry isn’t all that’s lost
In translation.

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Don’t make me relive those nights
At gran’mama’s house.
Men would inhale [ don’t make me say it]
From the living room table
And piss under couches.

They pulled gran’mama in her room
One time, and [don’t make me say it]
[don’t make me say it]

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Maybe I won’t dress my alcohol.
Maybe I’ll wear it
In broad daylight
And if God really hates me
He’ll give me a daughter.

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I won’t make her live
Through those nights I thought
We’d all be dead.

She’ll know that I’m dying.
She’ll know that she’ll live.

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She will always know.

The sting won’t burn so much
When she tattoes the compass
On her brain
To navigate the minefield
Of lies that come
With [don’t make me say it]
With having a mother who’s
[don’t make me say it]
With being [don’t make me say it]

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She’ll be skilled
In parent teacher conferences
Because I’ll never show up.
Already internalized are the
Excuses she’ll give her friends
Who can never come over,
And meaningless phrases to tell herself
In order to feel better.

She’ll have a list memorized
Of things to tell her therapist
So she won’t have to say anything,

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