I don't care anymore.

I don't care about the emptiness in my chest,
The way my thoughts echo and squirm,
Burrowing into my brain as it rots its potential away in a moist, warm tomb.

I don't care about the bitter pills I swallow,
Or the noose I've found comfort in these past months,
Alone in a cheap duplex in **** All Missouri,
Waiting for salvation or sleep.

I don't care that if I succeed today and die tonight that no one will care to find my body for weeks,
Alone like I have been the rest of my life until neighbors complain of the smell.

I don't care that I'm running out of money,
Or that all my friends and family have removed me from their lives.

I don't care that even as I lay dying, I have never understood why people choose to live.

And I don't care that this ****** teenage poetry is all I will leave behind.

I bow down to my goddess,
A mere mortal woman.
Who saves me from hell,
Then drags me back through.
She's broken,
She's damaged,
A wonderous mechanic,
Who can put my back together
With her own two hands.
She wraps me in her arms,
And plunges us down.
I've never been so happy
To be so mentally unsound.

People never see me.
To society, I don't exist.
Even when I bind myself so tight I cant breath,
Even when I shave my head
And pump myself full of hormones to the point I get sick,
All they do is pat my head and tell me I'm a silly girl.
Once I meet the right man they say,
I'll lose my confusion and be happy with my large ******* and generous hips.
I'll be happy raising my children and keeping house and kissing my husband when he gets home.
They look at my girlfriend with disdain and call her a phase,
They hear me begging for pronouns and simply shake their heads.
I'm forced into frilly dresses and forbidden from my bathrooms.
They put the gun to my head even as they say they're trying to help.
All they see is the identity they've forced upon me,
And people never see ME.

They say there's a heaven,
But I don't think that's true.
Because I can't be happier
Then when I'm with you.

I knew a girl once.
And she was beautiful.
Black hair curled down to her waist,
A comforting word and a pair of kind eyes helped me in the dark nights.
But the others couldnt see her beauty.
They were to concerned about what was between her legs.
They mocked her long hair and skirts,
Telling her to stop pretending and be normal.
She gave up her identity to the blade of a kitchen knife.

I knew a boy once.
And he was popular.
He partied, he made friends, he had fun.
He made everyone feel included.
He helped me in a strange new place,
Helped me find peace in others.
But his dad only found peace in the bottom of a bottle.
Alcohol did nothing to damage his aim,
And begging did nothing to help the sting.
The boy left us behind with the help of the belt that ruined him.

I knew someone once.
They didn't fit in well.
They drew a lot of weird things,
Wrote a lot of bad poetry,
And couldn't quite figure out how to talk to people.
But they loved the rain.
Sometimes they would sit and watch it for hours, perfectly content.
One day, they started a poem.
They wrote and they wrote and they wrote,
And when they were completely satisfied,
They opened the window to see the rain better.
They sat on the window sill, looking out at the pouring rain.
Then they smiled.
Took a deep breath.
And jumped.