I love the way you laugh.
It sounds like a dog throwing up.

I want to run my hands through your hair.
I bet it's as soft as a chinchilla's fur.

I love your height.
How it makes you look like you're the genetic product of Nick Jonas and a giraffe.

I love your eyes.
You're so full of ****, that even your eyes are brown.

I honestly am not suicidal anymore.
And that's good.
It's nice to be able to say that again.
I'd like to feel like I'm living more often, but I don't want to **** myself anymore, at least.
I honestly am not suffering from an eating disorder or any kind of weight paranoia.
This is also good.
It is really nice to be able to feel less worthless in that sense.
These are good things.
I'm getting better.
Let's focus on the positive, Ember.
This year WILL NOT JUST BE AN EXTENSION OF LAST YEAR.
You don't want to live like that anymore.
The silence is over.
Build something better for yourself.
It's time to find your own escape.
And it's time to focus on something better.
Maybe this sinking feeling of depression isn't entirely escapable, but count the struggles you've overcome.
I don't cut anymore, I don't starve anymore, and I don't make drafts for suicide notes anymore.
These are good things.
I still feel hollow, but I'm alive.
I'm going to start FEELING alive.
This is my goal.
It will be okay.
I need to start believing that.
because it is true.
I just don't know it yet.

Be proud that you're stronger than razor blades. That takes courage and strength.
If you're not there yet, don't worry. One day you will be, if you just give it time darling.
You miss the relief and you kind of grow fond of your scars, and you probably don't regret it, but being Clean is a different kind of permanent relief that you will never regret.
You made it.

Are we unjust in our biased views of this man?
Yes
Because we do not understand, do not comprehend
Just what Thee Artiste has to offer
A man of modesty, humility
A man fit to take up quill and ink
This sad and lonely unloved man
Reaches far the beseeching hand
Of friendship
We,we privileged few, we who swore to help
Those so deprived
Of litery and poetic skill
That we should now turn the scornful back
Upon one who does so sadly lack
The art with brush and pen
And so I call upon you my poetic friends
To turn the cheek and make amends
For the insults that we threw
So spread wide your arms
Make free the welcome in your halls
Invite the master through the door
Then kick a Carvo in the *****

It's funny how things work out.
Even funnier how they don't.