This is to..

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 22, 2018

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Submitted: August 22, 2018

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his is to... 

The people with mind blowing potential all wasted on drugs. 
The broken families that try to keep composure, but also know they can't. 
The people who will never see the sunset or hear their lover laugh. 
Those who don't feel obligation, only kindness. 
The people who always remember what they're longing to forget. 
Those brave enough to live and those who surrendered to suicide. 
Those who were never good enough just the way they are. 
The Popsicle stick that turn into cigarettes. 
The hearts that'll never heal, and were broken in the first place. 
The unfortunate new born who's fate was decided by his addicted mother. 
The separated vacations, and doubled addresses. 
Those few secretes that were kept. 
The wish wasted on 11:11 on the person who will never be there for you. 
The overdose of serotonin and two faced withdrawals. 

This is to... 

The days were protection meant to wear your knee pads. 
All the lies that were motivation, and destroyed everything when you say the truth. 
All the seekers who disguise lust for love. 
The days where happiness wasn't a substance consumed. 
The constant finger in your throat and the burn from more than just UN acceptance. 
The girls who weren't physically strong enough to keep their virginity. 
The children so blind and naive to what the future holds. 
The single parents struggling to make their kids lives so much better than theirs. 
The pitied people who live life as a competition for they will never experience peace. 
The blank canvas on your wrist now swelling with purple scars. 
The people who look in the mirror and wish to see anything but their own reflection. 
The life altering ideas held by the people who's voices just weren't loud enough. 
All the empty words received and time wasted on the person who never wanted you. 
The need unfulfilled and sought dishonestly in another person. 

This is to... 

The bruise infested bodies, and the smell of gin on their fathers throat. 
The tied tongues that move quicker than their minds. 
The questions unanswered. 
The battle field within with no crowned winner. 
The masked voices in your head that will never go away. 
The intoxicated body, and the uncontrollable bursts of testosterone. 
The devil and god battling inside you. 
The manufactured merriment and lifeless smiles. 
Those last words that weren't given the chance to be spoken. 
Those who have the courage to love. 
The people standing on the point of the spectrum where good and evil collide. 
The sins committed by the divine messengers of god. 
The realization that vanity spelled backwards spells ugly. 
Everyday containing something new. 

This is to... 

Anyone who can relate. 
So in other words this is to you.


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