Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
its like a dream
when i cut
like a nightmare
when i leave my room
and face my parents
wondering
if they know my secrets yet
I CANNOT TELL
WHETHER MY PAIN IS FAKE OR REAL
ALL THEY ASK IS HOW I FEEL
I HATE MYSELF
real or fake?
๐ข ๐๐จ ๐ง๐จ๐ญ ๐ค๐ง๐จ๐ฐ
๐šข๐š˜๐šž ๐šœ๐šŠ๐šข ๐šข๐š˜๐šž ๐š๐š˜ ๐š—๐š˜๐š ๐š”๐š—๐š˜๐š 
๐•“๐•ฆ๐•ฅ ๐•ช๐• ๐•ฆ ๐•’๐•ฃ๐•– ๐•๐•ช๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜
เธฟษ†โ‚ตโ‚ณษ„โ‚ดษ† ษŽร˜ษ„ โ‚ฉโ‚ณโ‚ฆโ‚ฎ โ‚ฎร˜ โ‚ฃร˜โฑคโ‚ฒษ†โ‚ฎ
ั‚ะฝั” ฯฮฑฮนะธ ั‚ะฝั”ัƒ ยขฮฑฯ…ั•ั”โˆ‚
แ—ฉแ‘Žแ—ช Iแ‘Žแ”•ไธ…แ—ดแ—ฉแ—ช
๐“น๐“พ๐“ผ๐“ฑ ๐“ฒ๐“ฝ ๐“ช๐”€๐“ช๐”‚
๊Œˆ๊‹Š๊‹–๊€ค๊’’ ๊€ค๊‹– ๊€ค๊Œš ๊„™๊๊‹ช๊น๊€ค๊๊‹Š
ะ”ะ˜โˆ‚ ะฃรธฯ… ะ”ฦงฦ˜ ะฃรธฯ…ะฏฦงฦŽโ„“ฦ’
โ“กโ“”โ“โ“› โ“žโ“ก โ“•โ“โ“šโ“”?
yeah ik i wrote 2 poems in a row called real or fake AND IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT YOU CAN *******
i'm still in awe
that you said yes
because you
are way out of my league
lfiuhSIHER;GOIHRGIOFDGIoio im so cringy hdsoifpefuhgpeirgh
i wish
that i could figure it all out
that my house
didn't feel like hell
and therapy
didn't feel like a hospital
and my parents
weren't just people
you're all ******* liars
leave me alone
why cant i have the privacy
of my own ******* home

you're all ******* liars
you let me die inside
said you'd be by my side
forever
but when i needed you most
you lied
you ******* lied
im not very good with my words
sometimes they spill out
like a shaken can of pop
but more like a volcano
an eruption of words
thoughts
feelings
i just cry
late nights
car lights
star brights
new heights
parent fights

i fight

and lost
i do not walk
i float,
half a whisper behind the world.
people speak in whole voices
but mine is paper thin
its faded away

mirrors donโ€™t lie,
they truth
that i am too much of something
and not enough of anything.

i learned early
to shrink myself
tighten the laughter,
bite the words,
become the apology
before anyone asks for it.

i wear invisibility like cologne,
subtle,
elusive,
always there.
it smells like
"youโ€™re not good enough"
and
"why would they care?"

some days iโ€™m a ghost
calling my own name,
pressing against the glass of who i should be,
watching him live
without me.
Next page