i swear to you
i remember it
i'm not lying a bit
i swear to you
i didn't make this event up, it's not brand new
i don't know what you want from me
stop disagreeing? like i'm the one lying here
i'd like to give an ear and hear what you have to say
but you'll try to get me to convey
my truthful statement into a lie
tie my now false statement in some of your mind
sugar laced lies
ninety thousand tries
thirty ways to compromise
i swear to you
i'm not fine
my mind isn't fine
it isn't a lie
i swear to you
i am fine
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 7:39 PM UTC
they're fighting again, what's new at this point?
i've got my mentality at gunpoint
it's hard to hear my screams under the sound of broken glass
i'm riding the train to insanity, first class
running mascara, slits running up and down every arm
dear god, i really don't think i can take any more
my head hurts, hands around my neck
realization hits me, i'm a ******* wreck
what the ****
looking for the labels that say flammable as i tuck
a lighter in my back pocket
wouldn't it be nice to see this all go down in flames?
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 7:39 PM UTC
we never usually relate ourselves to a stick of wax
we’ve all heard the dreaded cracks
of the two dollar pack of crayons
looking at the broken pieces
in our kindergarten hands
the teachers pat our backs covered fleece
but no one is there to pat her back
When she finally cracks
and shatters in to a million pieces
grandma isn’t here to knit fleece sweaters anymore
no one is here to pick up
the broken bits of her self esteem
or her dreams in which shattered with
but you know mental illness was just a myth
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 5:30 PM UTC
it’s like being trapped in a locked cage that’s slowly filling up with water. i’m getting anxious, heart is pounding but i don’t have the time to be anxious but i can’t be happy so i’m trying to cancel out the anxiousness, i’m incapable of being excited, i can’t be mad this is just my imagination, if i wouldn’t have been so messed up i wouldn’t be in that cage. cancelling out every single emotion, the others are too far away, i’m left with nothing. i feel nothing but trapped, i wish there was something here to make me laugh and unlock the door to this cage but there isn’t. i wish there was something sad that would show up to make me cry and sad so i can let out an emotion in me but there’s not. i can’t move, nothing makes sense, words fly past my head, everything is spinning, i feel trapped but not scared, not mad, not sad, not happy, i feel trapped. that’s the only way to describe it. i feel trapped in a pool of nothing, i’m slowly drowning, it hurts but i can’t feel but i know it hurts. it hurts but i can’t yell, they don’t know me. it hurts so bad but in the worst way where i can’t feel it but i can feel it. i look at my math work in front of me, ratios are jumping off the page, percentages are turning into words, eights are turning into sixes are turning into nines. like half of them just left me and the rest are screaming fail in my face. i would feel mad but i can’t. i want to slam my hand on my desk, break the lock, and say i am done with this but i can’t. it is the most annoying feeling of always being trapped, my brain doesn’t know what else to do except wait for the cage to be unlocked. it’s never going to be unlocked but my brain is a different being, it thinks for itself and i can’t change it. even it knows that it won’t be unlocked and we’ll drown alone in that cage it wants to wait. wait and see if we have to drown ourselves. waiting to drown is so boring, can’t we just do it ourselves? waiting, restricted, my brain is its own asylum. shocking itself, pulling ice picks through my eyes, cutting itself open, punching holes in my skull. i’m filling out my form. my brain is homicidal, it wants to **** me. it is killing me. i perform horribly in math, third period. the period right after study hall. forty minutes to myself, in my own thoughts. no school work, no friends, no texting, no talking, except for to myself. clocks scattered across the room, ticking as they go in the bottom right-hand corner. a tear of joy runs down my face, another minute until i’m unlocked. i’m scared of dying, i don’t want to die, i don’t want to leave but i can’t wait until this cage door unlocks and if that means dying, i’m in. i would do anything to burn the cage and its lock so that no one else has to go through it. i don’t want another harmless person being trapped in a cage where only pain sits but you can’t feel it, you just know it’s there. i refuse to let anyone else sit, soaking in water with a big, red button in front of them that says end suffering. push it and you’re free, push it and you’re dead. i wouldn’t wish this dreaded cage among my worst enemies. i wouldn’t wish feeling like you’re dead but not, feeling like sleep can cure it but it can’t, feeling like the last thing to do is push the red button, feel like they can’t move, feel like they can’t focus, feel like nothing makes sense. there’s no cage, why does it feel like it? i’m not trapped, why can’t i move. i’m not deaf, why can’t i hear? i’m not blind, why can’t i see? i’m a functioning human, why doesn’t it feel like it?
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC
I want to give you a letter. A letter that will tell you the truth. A letter so I won’t be forgotten. A stupidly cliche love letter. I don’t expect a response other than moving away from me in class and avoiding me, but that doesn’t change anything. I want to gift you a letter, written in pure black ink on a piece of thick off-white paper. I want to give you a letter that mentions your dark brown eyes that look like deep pools of honey in sunlight, your smile which can melt someones’ heart with one glance. You’re so dangerous so why in the world do I keep wanting to suffer? You are so dangerous yet stunning, you’re the worst yet the absolute best thing thats’ happened to me. What’s with you? What’s with me?
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 5:16 PM UTC
as humans we need sleep
but it’s quite hard to keep
a schedule that’s fine
i say as i stand in the line
for therapy
they tell my to be happy
it’ll make me sleepy
but i don’t have enough energy to eat
let alone smile
they say it takes more muscles to frown
but we should start looking down
where all the depressed people are
with more than one scar
who are mostly found in the corner of a bar
crying wishing they were dying
i have slept five hours the past week
but don’t let that leak
because they’ll either make get help
or tell me to go to hell
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
when you automatically know how to write a suicide note
can write it in five minutes
learned to open child proof locks
sneaks blades like a fox
piles chairs to reach the bags
climbs ladders so quick like life lagged
downing nyquil like whiskey
screaming why won’t it let me be
you’ve reached the peak
of life and death
so when people say
you don’t know where i’ve been
believe them
because they don’t know what you’ve seen
so how could you know what they have?
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 4:40 PM UTC
My family is an old box of crayons,
broken but still functional.
My dad is the red crayon, taped back together at the middle,
appears oh so strong and powerful.
No one will notice the little things just barely holding it together
My mom is the sky blue, snapped in three.
Even when broken everyone still thinks it’s the prettiest,
because why waste something so beautiful
just because it’s been through bumpy roads?
Ben is the bright yellow, pieced together, paper unravelling at the top.
The color every child needs to add the source of light
in their pretty little pictures.
Every issue, every problem shoved under the paper,
no one can see so it stays bright and inviting at least from afar.
Ally is the bright pink crayon, cracked under the paper.
Some people can’t stand it, perfect paper, pretty color,
but the ones that spend their time coloring with it
Find the cracks and breaks even under perfectly smoothed pretty paper
Nate is the grey crayon, sitting at the bottom of the box still sharp.
No one wants it, except for the few
that find out that it is a key piece in any artwork.
That find out it’s much more than that boring one at the bottom of the box.
And me? I’m the white crayon, broken in half.
No one needs it, why does it even exist?
Broken, still it lightens mistakes
it can’t completely fix them but when it tries
it contributes, even if it is the tiniest bit.
• Emi Munroe-Anderson, 1/7/19 •
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 7:54 PM UTC
His eyes are a deep chocolate brown as they wonder to the whiteboard looking for direction. As they look to the window, natural sunlight paints them a beautiful dark amber, a honey *** Warm and sweet, wouldn’t they compliment mine so nicely? Warm, honey brown eyes meeting with cold, grey eyes. But who would ever want a cold dull grey? Wouldn’t most want a bright blue or light loving brown? They would go so nicely, even better.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 9:56 PM UTC
i love you
is just such a generic way to say
i wanna run away with you
and there's nothing i wouldn't do
to be with your little cute ****
just please shut down
those stupid little commercials
there's a lot more to relationships
we often drown in our old frowns
and bring each other back to life
then stab each other with the knife
there is no rehearsal
for love
typing on my keyboard like a piano
thinking about your sweet eyes and smile
thinking about that bitter americano
your smile resembles a starbucks macchiato
but you taste like robusta beans
i love you
puts so many words in to
three words
viewed as innocent
i love you
we say it out of hand
i love you
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC