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I am that girl.
I am the shy girl
At the party
Who fakes smiles
At all who come her way,
just to be polite
The one who will be on her phone
For almost the entire evening
Because it’s a good distraction

I am that girl
Whose life looks coined
From some old fable
That teaches girls
To be cultured
The one everyone calls perfect
Just because her life appears so
As no one is yet to notice
Her frustrating wade
Under the surface


And I’m the girl
Who sees her life
In a multiple of colors
Whose order is found
In having things in specific colors
Her friends gasp and admire
Oh, you’re so neat
Without realizing
It’s OCD

I’m that girl
Who has lived a thousand lives
Travelled to the ends of the earth
In the literature
She loses herself into
Finding comfort in the characters
Lost and confused and shattered
Longing to be understood
Like her

I’m that girl
Drawn to music and art and literature
Not for the tune or jibe
Not for the words
But for the emotions
The feel behind the many words
The torment and peace
Carved so artistically
In each piece

And I am that girl
Who has been to prison
Been a slave to her thoughts
Been bound by heavy chains of heartbreak
Who understands all too well
The emptiness of loneliness
And that still small recurrent voice
Convincing you it’s okay
It’s okay to give up
To give up on oneself
On love
On hope
On life

I’m that girl
Who will rather texts to calls
Because it’s a great torment
Trying to express herself
To a world that doesn’t understand women
Who love football and old movies
And whose idea of an ideal gift
Is not a dress or shoe, however nice
But a book

I’m still that girl
Who has been knocked down
But still keeps pressing on
Pressing on to something unknown
Hopeful that she will love
And be loved again
Not in some old-time fairy tale of love
But in some deeper way

See, I’m that girl
Who has seen it all
I wouldn’t try to hurt you
even if you did
I want you to see that
I would open up and love and say IT
If I had the courage and words to use on you
But the demons dancing in my head
Will not allow it.



He crawls at the most convenient of times. Like a serial killer in pursuit waiting for the lights go off and see his victim alone, he waits patiently. Calculating… building in anxiety and excitement.
You get into bed- happy at the comfort your pillows offer, letting out a sigh of relief at how your blankets envelop you. It’s like a hug that needs no response, needs no speech, and lasts for more than two minutes. “Today was okay. Tomorrow must be better.” You promise yourself as you shut your eyes.
Then he comes in. Pounding on your chest and growing with each heart throb. The lump eating and swelling on your throat… The small know-it-all voice that floods your mind, throwing all questions and “what if’s” at you…

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Reality hits you. Every wrong thing going on in your life plays and replays in your mind. That is how he works; he wants you to remember each detail, each word, each move, every wrong thing happening. That is his signature. He demands attention. He demands to be felt. He wants to remind you that he holds the reigns now. He needs you to remember that no matter how much you try to block him out, he will not leave before his time is up. He wants you not to forget just how powerful he is.
“He” is emotional pain. And he can get to the best of us.

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So what to do? Pain demands to be felt- and feel him we must. Sometimes, the only way to escape fire is to go through it. Stepping into the flames, getting scathed, and despite the choking and coughing, getting to the other side without being consumed. And, by Jove, when you’re get to the safe side, don’t look back and sulk; look back and smile.

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Oh, it isn’t tough shut. Thank auto-predict.

Photos: Courtesy