bexyoshi13 - Hello Poetry

She watches all the people As she sits upon the shelf Choosing other pretty girls Ones not like herself People see the cracks And the tears upon her dress They walk right by and leave her Much to her distress All they see are her problems And once these are all fixed She’ll be the prettiest one of all If only she is fixed

0

Mar 1, 2019

Mar 1, 2019 at 8:18 AM UTC

The China Doll

She watches all the people As she sits upon the shelf Choosing other pretty girls Ones not like herself People see the cracks And the tears upon her dress They walk right by and leave her Much to her distress All they see are her problems And once these are all fixed She’ll be the prettiest one of all If only she is fixed

12

She looks out through the window Into the falling snow And wishes she could remember clearer Those days from long ago. The days she’d sip hot cocoa And sit upon her bed Dreaming of the years to come The years that she should dread. And if I could, I’d tell her To slow down and take her time Before her loved ones left her And before she cut those lines. Though it may be fun to dream of The future you may have You never think of cuts and scars And losing those you had. My advice to all those young ones Who dream of future days Is to slow down and count the seconds While you still have time to play.

0

Feb 26, 2019

Feb 26, 2019 at 7:50 AM UTC

Future Days

She looks out through the window Into the falling snow And wishes she could remember clearer Those days from long ago. The days she’d sip hot cocoa And sit upon her bed Dreaming of the years to come The years that she should dread. And if I could, I’d tell her To slow down and take her time Before her loved ones left her And before she cut those lines. Though it may be fun to dream of The future you may have You never think of cuts and scars And losing those you had. My advice to all those young ones Who dream of future days Is to slow down and count the seconds While you still have time to play.

20

At thirteen I lost the greatest woman in my life. My grandmother was the strongest woman I knew. That was when I started creating art with razors on my wrists and my thighs, thinking about how she'd hate me if she saw how weak I was when she was so strong. At fifteen my uncle was diagnosed with stage IV esophagus cancer. It felt like I was falling when standing still. Three months later he was gone. At sixteen I had a bad feeling at school. Something was wrong and I could feel it. They said I was crazy, that everything was fine. The night prior my uncle ended his life. The art with the razors became more frequent. At eighteen I was in a verbally abusive relationship and felt trapped. I met my best friend, and she saved me. She helped me free myself from him. At nineteen I lost two friends two weeks apart to car accidents. It felt like everything was spinning and I was screaming and nobody could hear me. But nobody came, because nobody saw I was dying inside. At twenty a person in my town died in a hiking accident. The whole town came together to mourn the loss of an amazing person. I'm putting down my razors. The art must stop. If I continue, the art will be the death of me. So I write.

0

Oct 25, 2018

Oct 25, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC

The Razor Artist

At thirteen I lost the greatest woman in my life. My grandmother was the strongest woman I knew. That was when I started creating art with razors on my wrists and my thighs, thinking about how she'd hate me if she saw how weak I was when she was so strong. At fifteen my uncle was diagnosed with stage IV esophagus cancer. It felt like I was falling when standing still. Three months later he was gone. At sixteen I had a bad feeling at school. Something was wrong and I could feel it. They said I was crazy, that everything was fine. The night prior my uncle ended his life. The art with the razors became more frequent. At eighteen I was in a verbally abusive relationship and felt trapped. I met my best friend, and she saved me. She helped me free myself from him. At nineteen I lost two friends two weeks apart to car accidents. It felt like everything was spinning and I was screaming and nobody could hear me. But nobody came, because nobody saw I was dying inside. At twenty a person in my town died in a hiking accident. The whole town came together to mourn the loss of an amazing person. I'm putting down my razors. The art must stop. If I continue, the art will be the death of me. So I write.

12