holly-anderson
Hi. I like coffee, rain, and art of any kind. I'm one of those people that just writes what I'm feeling, I'm not particularly talented. I love music, it means a lot to me. / That is all, I hope you enjoy your stay in my little corner of the world! Remember, you are all beautiful.
She is waging an all out war.
against herself.
Wishing to be set free
from herself.
Determined to win, even if she
kills herself.
She uses this beautiful blade
on herself.
Carving her deepest insecurities to
remind herself.
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 8:05 PM UTC
She stands in front of her mirror
A pale, skinny frame
with dazed, empty eyes.
She appears to be a ghost,
something out of a horror movie.
The tears and mascara streaks on her face.
The harsh taste of bile in her breath.
The blood pouring down her wrists.
*How horrible.
How hideous.
How imperfect.*
But society created this monster.
By day, she is a barbie doll.
By night, an insecure mess.
And soon a young beauty
falls victim to the pressure to be perfect
that she became addicted to
but in the end could no longer bear.
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 7:58 PM UTC
The entire world screams
*Get up and fight,
you coward.*
But you hold your ground.
Stand by your comrades
like a soldier.
Protect your friends
like a shepherd.
You're no coward.
You're a lover,
a peacemaker in this world of war.
Love will always be
louder than any cry,
stronger than the chains that bind us.
You fight for the what you love,
but sometimes
what you love fights back,
harder.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
I am no longer me.
I look in the mirror and see
the ghost of what once was,
the regret of what never will be.
I will always be wrong.
The monster you've become
rips apart the essence of me.
My seams forever undone.
But I will never forget.
How I let you in and
what you did to me.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
The worst part about falling
is not when you hit the bottom.
Not getting back up after the fall.
Not when you have to let go,
Not when you have to move on.
The worst part about falling
is knowing that you are slipping.
Knowing you are slipping, deep down
into a pit of demons and despair.
Knowing you are breaking.
Knowing you will be held hostage
by the devil inside you.
Knowing you need help,
but when you finally cry out,
no one is there to save you.
And you just have to allow yourself to fall.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 9:36 PM UTC
Hello.
I'm your girl.
The girl who will always smile
and listen to your petty complaining
as if it were actually a crisis.
Your girl to pretend everything is okay,
to act as if I actually believe in love.
Your girl to take advantage of,
to bend and beat and break
but never ****
because she is expected to stand up and smile
like nothing happened.
Hello.
I'm the girl who's been hiding the whole time.
The girl who's not okay.
Who's sick of being your *****
Who cannot take it anymore
That girl who is actually going to be real.
But you don't want real.
You want a little perfect Barbie
who you can play with.
You think you need someone
who can simply smile and look pretty for you.
I guess I'm stuck being your girl.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 8:25 PM UTC
Screaming, screaming, screaming.
She sunk further and further down under.
The deeper she got,
the more entangled in her lies she became.
Fighting, fighting, fighting.
She had been in constant combat mode.
But the struggle was only halfhearted,
the end was inevitable.
Dying, dying, dying.
She was losing all she ever had.
Her relief grew
with the pain.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 12:04 AM UTC
I believe in music.
I believe that
when words fail,
music speaks.
It lives as a part of us,
giving an internal fight.
A fight to live, to be remembered
as something more
than just another drop in the sea.
Our world spins around
as a symphony,
a thousand different songs
coming together in a harmony.
Every incoherent thought
becomes a lyric.
Every tear shed
strums a chord.
Every individual
a beat.
Every voice
a song.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
Nobody knows of
the countless nights I've spent
in a dull little room.
Awake in bed at night,
listening to the steady beeping
of my sick little heart.
I'm afraid to think
that it might stop too soon.
Unable to breathe,
too sick to move,
too sick to love,
too sick to live.
Then come the questions.
Everyone demanding answers,
knowledge I don't even have.
Are you okay?
I lie, only because
I don't want sympathy.
I want to be saved.
Save me
from this war,
from this hell,
from this so called life.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
Go on and act like you
control me.
know me.
define me.
All you do is see your own **** version
of who you think I am.
See, you really do paint a beautiful picture.
You should be an artist, an inventor.
Creating the perfect ideal.
Living the lie of dreams becoming real.
But who is that girl?
The girl who smiles?
The girl who has no scars?
The girl who is free?
It's most certainly not me.
But this time, it's my story to write.
Let me figure out the plot.
I know more than you, give me the pen.
It's my life, even if I can't predict the end.
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC