UntitledA friend has diedAnd many shall mournWe approach the funeral suffering and forlornBitter tears are falling all aroundAside this rain, there's but a soundThe shuffles of feetThe muffles of the sobsSome curse the bulliesSome curse GodWord after wordIt tore into her heartEating her awayUntil she broke apartNo one seemed to noticeAnd I don't think they caredMy best friend had diedShe wasn't preparedI lost a friendAnd she lost her heartBefore I knew it, it all fell apartThe rumors they spreadAnd her hatred did tooShe became a girl I know longer knewThe bitterness it spreadSo thick and so darkShe doesn't talk anymoreNot even her snide remarksSee, someone had diedBut others did tooBroken hearts all aroundOh, the tears how they flew.
MirrorsWhy is it when I call myself fatPeople comfort me?I didn't think loving my bodyWas a sad thing to doWhy is it when they call themselves skinnyEveryone applauds them?Sometimes they wish they were biggerBecause then they could fill everyone's eyes with wonderI learn not to hear these wordsWords that are like mirrorsTo reflect the flaws of my body to meBecause I know, one day, that mirror will shatterAnd if I hold on to those words which reflected my imageI'll end up cutting myself on the broken bits of "me"The insults I would have thrived uponInstead of chasing after the grand mirror,cutting myself on the would-haves and could-havesI'll invest in a new mirrorOne as golden as my body image isAnd one as small as the voice in my head telling me I'm "Beautiful as is"Because no mirror captures my image betterThan the one that is held by me.
Thick with SugarSweeter and sweeterAnother piece of cakeTastier and tastierThis pain she cannot takeSour, so sourA gumdrop or fourWhen the box emptiesShe only looks for moreChips and candyOh, she eats it allIf her sorrow was measured by her stomachShe outweighs them allSadder, and sadderHer stomach weighs as suchLouder and louderThe sound of her gutDrowning out the sadnessShe'll eat another slice of cakeHer stomach's as heavy as her heartBecause of this pain she cannot take
CannotI don't respond to affectionI don't think I deserve itBut when you cry, and want to dieI remind you that you're worth itI remind you you can do many thingsThings that I cannotAnd always I remind myselfI'm destined just to rotI don't see a future for myselfNo, it's just not thereBut whenever I can I'll make you understandIt's always thereIf I could give this depression away as easily as I give adviceThen maybe I'd be happyAnd my heart melted of ice
Glass Is Half EmptyIf her depression were measuredby the tears she's shedShe'd fill a glassAnd as alwaysYou'd ask for more.
LoveIs not "standing up" for your friendswhen you cut others downIs not the relationship that comes with free artAnd no late-night talksIt is not how much money someone spends on youFor clothes, websites, or anythingLoveIs built upon inside jokeslate-night phone calls,pep-talks before the big test tomorrowLove is laughterIn both sorrow and jubilationLove is the embrace you givethat never faltersBecause in this harsh worldWhen love seems to be the polluted definition oftragedy and angerAll we can do is give others the warmth of our wordsThe kindness of our soulAnd the assuring embraceTo go on another day.
AnchorsIf depression were like a seaConstantly threatening to pull me underThen you’d be my anchorDrowning me with the weight you make me carry
UntitledAge five was when she felt it, a painful sting in her heartAge five is when those tantrums began, just to keep her world from falling apartAge seven was when she compared herself, and knew she wasn't enoughAge seven was when she realized, just how much she wanted to give upAge nine she was a little girl who didn't have great luckAge nine she was a little girl who thought she was fucked upAge ten she wasn't human, she was cruel jokes and rumors, tooAge ten she wasn't a girl just like me or youAge eleven she wanted a boy just to know that she was thereAge eleven was the time she knew that no one really caredAge thirteen she realized this sadness, that loomed overheadAge thirteen she never had a feeling stronger, than wanting to be deadAge fourteen things got better, the weather not so roughAge fourteen she thought things may be starting to look upAge fifteen she found relief, something other than feeling numbAge fifteen she hasn't convinced herself that she's actually love
SocializationShe's got a nice front to her.Conversation seems easy.She seems like a lovely girl,But her attitude its just sleazy.--She thinks she's doing many great thingsBy being everyone's counselor,My, that has to sting,To talk to people for hours.--She's lazy and lonely, what a terrible mixWill she ever socialize properly?Or is that a problem we can't fix?--She wants people to talk to herBut she can't keep it goingShe seems like a smart girlBut her social skills aren't flowing.--Do people tire of her as much as she does them?Is she really happy? Does she really have friends?She's just a nobody in a sea of potential,If her social skills were better, maybe she'd become essential.
You Are BeautifulHey there friend,I have something I need to tell you -You are beautiful.Whether you are a cute little pixieOr a voluptuous goddess;Whether your body is a rolling landscapeOr a smooth, flat tropical beach.This is something I really must stress -You are beautiful.Whether your hair is blondeOr brown or blackOr red or green,Long or shortOr tied up at the backOr not there at all -You are beautiful.Whether you wear short skirtsOr button-up shirts,Or torn up jeansAnd band t-shirts;Whether you dress all in pinkOr blue or blackOr every colourTo the sky and back -You are beautiful.Whether you don your make-upLike war paint,Or you wear none at all -You are beautiful.Whether your body is an art galleryOf scars and stretch marks,Or as smooth as honey;Whether you hang out in parksOr libraries or malls or bars -You are beautiful.Whether you stride aroundAs the magnificent force you are,Or you ride a wheelchairLike royalty in a carriage -You are beautiful.Whethe
For those who are teasedPity thosewho throw knivesat your back,for you'vedevelopedsteel armor,and they're leftwith porcelain skin,and broken knives.
he saved me, but he killed me._i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest. it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes you walked out, your five year old eyes greener thansunlit saplingsyou reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me."what's your name?"daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.I looked at the rose in my hand."Rose."you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.i didn't understand but I knew.ii. i forgot about you for 1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,you shoutedmy name, but i didn't recognize youuntil i saw your eyes.iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.i screamed, and you carried me home.iv. i didn't talk for a week. i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.you sat next to me in the pouring rain,your war
Anxiety attackAs the attack begins,I feel myself slipping away again.And I question things that are better left unsaid.And contemplate if I am better off dead.My anxiety is killing me,I feel my hands shaking.And I am sobbing.And am I dying?I am just trying,To get a grip.But I feel my reality slip through my finger tips.Nothing is real,Except every bit of pain my mind forces me to feel.Every memory that I had shoved away.Is now racing around my brain.It's driving me insane.And my limbs turn to jello.Every time my head hits the pillow,Before I go to bed.I start to panic and I am wide awake instead.More thoughts are swarming around like a hurricane.Please,Make it stop!And just like that,The attack is gone.
Humans Are Like RagdollsMaybe humans are like ragdolls.Some of us are manufactured,With stitches that are a bit off.And we get put back on the shelf.While others are made perfectly,Included with bows and pretty dresses.But eventually we all get loose strings,And we become such tattered, worn out things.We all eventually pull at these loose endsUntil we all unravel.And some can be sewn back together,While others are broken forever.
God's PaintbrushI've learned that God's paintbrush is incredibly flawed,with lashes picked at, and bristles torn nearly off.I don't think everybody likes what God paints,because we're always trying to smear it away.We cut off a few pounds, or cut up some skin,when we soil the paper, we throw it in the trash bin.I think His paper has been sauntered with tears,or blood, and vulgar language from our peers.Like others have taken His brush and dipped it in oil,and have painted themselves, in a way that's soiled.I knew that God's paintbrush was incredibly flawed,but that doesn't mean that we should change it at all.“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” they say,perhaps it would be better to keep it that way.I'm incredibly certain that God makes no mistake,I think that we do, when we try to be fake.When we take His art into our own hands,and when we ruin the strokes that He carefully commands.I don't really think that God wants us to be perfect,if so, then He wouldn't take th
O K A YI stress too muchI don’t sleep wellSome days I’m happy,Some days it’s hell.If I complain, I’m seen as weakThey’ll mock and laugh for days and weeksYears of tortureYears of painI’m contemplating on ending this game.Helping others,I do that bestI just want to be treated like the rest.The game goes on,But I’m far from weakI’ll strive on forwardsMy light’s not meek.Things may be hardBut they’ll be okay.I can play this game another day.