I feel like a blank canvas
And everytime I think of something to paint
I second guess it
Till I no longer like it
I feel empty
But everything that could make me feel whole
I shut out
I feel broken
But I can’t fix it
So I’ll just stare into the darkness
Hands over my mouth
Because no one is allowed to hear me cry

Dark curly hair, swirling brown eyes, flawless face, perfect features.
It was beautiful.
But like all beautiful creatures it was caged and tormented.
Tested and abused.
Till finally it was internally broken and scared.
Now it’s considered normal.

Why do I feel the need to write
When I have no ideas
No inspiration
No thoughts

I know that this won’t reach you. I know that you’ll never read the way I feel and never listen. But I’m gonna write it anyway. I’m not stupid, I’m not crazy, I’m not mental. My lack of ability to deal with **** is not all my fault. I love you mum, I love you dad, but being a pawn is that sick and twisted relationship that you keep “for me” isn’t healthy. **** it. I always thought that I was selfish. Then I stepped back and looked at the world. I always thought that my life was normal. Some of the **** I went through haunts me and you’ll never get that. I was a little girl and now I don’t know what I am. You made me lose myself because I was too busy trying to find you. I think the hardest thing is that I still try for you. When it dosent mean anything when my words are just  wasted air to you.

I hate not being able to order things
I hate freaking out over small decisions
Catastrophising
I hate it
But more importantly I hate the way you tell me that it’s nothing.