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I know I won't get as angry I want to be,
And I'll regret me,
Because I'm never able to do it;
She always changes something,
Somehow it always gets better for her,
But it just gets worse for me.
I just become more guilty,
Even only by listening.

I feel like I can never really express my feelings,
Yet I still seem to do it too much,
Then I still fall.
So many things are happening,
This always repeats;
It has horrible timing.
If ignorance is a good thing,
Why is it so hard to actually
Keep it?

And I keep picturing loads of the same things.
When I'm not sure what I feel,
Maybe I hide from it.
I peak and when I see
I can no longer believe
So I just wait to weep.
I've no clue what to say,
Without any more delay,
I'll race through the page,
Give it all a way
In factual content:
I'll probably seem fine.
But it's not that way at all.
Give me something,
I just need anything I can get,
To try to heal it.
I'm trying my best,
Not to forget how to be without it.

I am searching the lines,
Creating new stanzas,
In a hopeless attempt
To get it all together again.

Lately I'm starting to see
Myself seeking attention,
Even if ever so slightly.
I realise I've clung onto things tight,
That make me feel needed,
Those who paid me attention,
And then those same people who then did the opposite:
Because everyone gets bored eventually.

Now I feel like I'm just waiting,
For someone else to forget me,
Another person saying **** it they don't need me.
In addition for a while now,
I've felt my siblings slowly slipping away and away further
To him.

But that's not what this is about,
This is about how self centred I am,
Once again, I guess it will always come back then.
The past years seem to be a sequence of:
Thinking I'm better,
When really I'm just changing the order of the pattern,
I'm just expressing it in different ways.

But I don't know how many more strategies I have left.
Sometimes it's not what you want,
It's what you're given.
It's not always how you've planned,
Or what you could've guessed.
Maybe it's so out there,
That you don't recognise.

Sometimes it's what you want,
But what you haven't gotten.  
It could be how you've planned it,
Something that you've thought.
This could be so close to home,
That it is all you know.
We have to hurt because pain is what we crave for as humans.
We live in a time when we feel dying is a better option than living.
We live without forgiveness and suffer through the shame.
We have dread in our eyes that we never want to see again.
We feel sad without reason and happy at just a glance.

If everything’s depressing, then where can you be happy?
Where can you love, if love is always losing?
If you wish you were never born, then how can you live fully?
And what if you can’t be bothered, because you believe you shouldn’t have been here to do it in the first place?
What do you do when no one loves as passionately as you do, because you can’t be loved anyway?
What happens if you give up of everything?
Here I continue to write these never ending poems,
About some guy I never knew,
Someone I'll probably never really care about,
Because apparently:
It's still not out of my system.

I don't know how many more
Verses or lines this will take,
To pour this all away from my insides,
So I'm sorry if your sick
Of me constantly plastering this everywhere.
You're probably wondering how I'm still not over it,
Because every collection that I have,
Nowadays this always seems to get in somewhere.

I even dedicated a whole project to it,
Some kind of twisted devotion because I thought it might help,
They say I've had too much dissociation.
Those contradicting professionals,
Say this isn't good enough either:
I'm just not doing something right,
And my agony is wrong;
I'm not doing traumatic recovery right,
Even though if you ask me, there hasn't been any "trauma".

If you're sick of it,
I understand.
I'm sick of it too,
But keeping this inside,
It just won't do,
But I'm still told I'm not
Releasing my anguish anyway.
This is truly how I feel right now.
It hurts sometimes
It screams inside
Is this pain really mine?
It clenches together in my insides
Making me dream, wishing for a better time.
I'll do just fine
That's always my line.
If something's not there
You're supposed to bring yourself to it,
But what can I seek
when whatever I need
ceases to exist out of my mind?
They say my reckless head helps me,
I tell myself I can use it to encourage myself,
But still it hurts me all the same.
You see, I use it to give what I haven't got
It's of no use because it kills with a slightly stronger dose.

I can try to forget
It can't last long,
Nothing's supposed to be pain free.
However there's other things
I just can't be bothered to feel,
And if I almost do I just stop:
Because they're not the most important;
They don't come back day by day,
Just to join me in the night.
I never had a "daddy" to sing a lullaby.
For years I didn't want one,
Half convinced still I wasn't missing out,
Yet now it's starting to hurt
Then I realise I'll never find my soulmate.
The percentage isn't in my favour,
How could it ever be?
How do you find your one person
out of 7.5 billion?
If I can't have a father,
how could I get an eternal partner?
Lacking strengthens my need,
For that perfect guy in my head to love me.
He's not here though,
And he never will be,
Tough as it is, I'll never be away from him.
Lack creates need,
tries to make up for things:
This is how it feels when you can't fill either gap.

Spaces are filled by made up places.
Spaces are areas without meaning,
Places are of meaning or association, unempty.
The space is one half of a non-existing f a m i l y.
My place is where I can have a future boyfriend made of better things.
My reckless head
Is supposed to give hope and safety,
Shelter me from reality.
My reckless head
Don't they know it breaks me,
To dream of things
That can never be?

Spaces are there.
Places are put there.
Needed
Unwanted
Despair
Desired
Anyone else there?
Is there a difference that you see?
All my minor sorrows seem the same to me.
Please don't hurt me.
I've only just recovered,
from the very last time.
I may keep trying to forgive you,
but the memory won't go.
I still remember how you made me fear.
I don't want to feel that pain again.
It's that part of you I can't bare.
You seem to take my heart right out,
which brings all the pain.
But then you come right back,
and put it back again.
But then you don't just take it.
I've just got my heart back from you.
So what else can you do now?
You stab at my heart again.
Once is not enough.
You keep coming back for more.
You've stabbed me a thousand times,
but you're still at my door,
asking for one more.
But what if it's like last time?
Because I can't take another stab.
This one is the last.
The next time you come back,
I'm lying dead on the floor,
bleeding from my heart.
I couldn't live with you stabbing it anymore.
The stars will always shine.
They'll keep shining relentlessly.
You shouldn't ever forget that,
Because in hard times there are little things.
These little things we learn to hold onto.
They can help keep us from falling apart.
Take the stars for example;
They'll still always be there
And they won't ever give up.
You should make the same efforts.
To make everyday be lived and loved,
And also to not ever
Give up.
I'm stressed inside and out.
Annoying thoughts are swirling around.
I can't even tell them to go away.
I have to face them the next day.
I have to get myself through it,
Do all my homework the best I can.
Yes this sounds stupid.
It's only about homework.
But you couldn't realise,
How it stresses me inside.
Along with all of this.
You are there.
In my head.
On my mind when I breathe in fresh air.
I know that I can't hide.
I saw you today,
I saw you last week.
I talk to you too.
But so far I feel blue.
I guess I get jealous.
I know that I do.
This reality is nothing I can do.
I want you so bad,
But you don't feel the same.
I know it,
You've told me,
And I can't make that change.
None of this though,
Will pry me away.
Because you forever,
In my heart you will stay.
Thank you so much.
You helped me,
You saved me before it was too late.
I was losing the plot;
Thought I was a psychopath,
When all I've ever wanted was to prove my normality.

You saved me.
Just in time because I was losing my wits.
You saw me struggle and you helped me.
You showed me the way.

I can't thank you enough.
With the whole world against me,
It was proving what I've always known was wrong.
But then you showed me that I was right.
That I am okay and not to worry.
The relief felt like you gave me an uplifting hug,
Even though I never saw you there.
Stuff may happen but I don't understand.
I don't know why they talk to me,
I don't know why I'm here.
I'd rather cease to exist
Because then I won't be spoken to.
When people open their mouths to me
I wonder what they are doing.
Can't they tell I'm basically incompetent,
At conversing as they do?

And I want to love my mother.
Most of the time I'm sure I do,
But I'm not sure how to anymore.
That's what happens when you give but don't receive.
I want to flourish socially,
At least enough so I can manage to achieve something,
But it's getting harder it seems.
Sometimes I feel I can't be bothered
With just anything.
I feel kind of surreal,
Like things are happening but I'm not very there.
Sometimes I want my daydreams to all just go away,
But whilst I say that I am begging them to stay.
It makes me almost wish they could just give me antipsychotics,
And that they would help everything wrong with me that no one understands.
Even what seems expected to be understood,
It seems like no one does.
Once again, there's another way
Of how I am an outcast
Way more than once and for always.
It slowly creeps in all day,
Just thinking of excuses
So that I don't have to do it.
But is it real or am I really just excusing nothing?
All I know right now is that:
I don't want to do it.
Going is too social for me,
Repeating a message is too much,
And asking for cover contradicts the last one,
Not showing up will be noticed,
There might even be consequences.
It's not as bad as it has been,
But I still don't want to do it so
What can I do?
I don't even want this all to be happening,
I wish life would just stop,
Because everything is stressful enough,
Anxiety levels are heightening,
So do I just get out of it by not talking to anyone?
Maybe I can avoid everything by just staying here,
And doing nothing,
Just pretend not to be noticed even more,
Maybe then all of the things I get wrong
Won't matter anymore.

But I know when I get there it might be fine.
I'd be missing out on the classroom banter
That I will never be a part of.
Missing things I could be, should be doing as a sixth form student,
Because she's too scared it will be bad
And she won't be able to escape.
No one cares about that,
Because you're not a little girl stuck in a nightmare
And, the world won't wait for you to be ready.
It's just I'm tired because I've been chasing it for years,
To keep my head above the water even though I can't swim and I'm no good at running either.

Now I'm not even sure how I got here,
The anxiousness started yesterday,
But can I remember why?
I'm pretty sure I was just stressed with life so I thought about avoidance,
But this is one of my easier days;
So it doesn't make sense.
If I get out of this I'll be upset with myself:
For not doing normal things like everyone else,
But I never wanted to do it in the first place,
Which gets me to thinking
Did I work myself up into this state?
All on my own, without the so called "social anxiety" monster trying to catch me again?
Avoiding will mean questions asked,
Which means socialising
And probably ending up going,
Because if they're doing it I'll feel bad because they're in a worse place than me,
I'm just nothing.
This is why I want to just
d i s a p p e a r
Avoid all this fear
Why is that not possible?
Why can I not just stop it all.
I'll have to email to get the work anyway.
Existing causes so much hassle,
It's like attempting to live normally is an endless battle.
I know I swapped what person I was writing in but it was intentional because when thinking about something making you seem small it can be like imagining someone younger feeling how you do, also that may be easier to imagine by displacing your emotions from yourself and that's kind of how I felt when I wrote it I guess. Even though you may think it's stupid and I'll probably curse myself over and over for being annoying and doing it, this is why I kept it like that.
She's hurting inside
The longer she cries
Deep blue eyes
Drowned out goodbyes

One day she wakes up and sighs,
"What now?" She asks,
This is escalating further,
To the point that she's screaming at herself,
"What am I supposed to do now?"
She sinks back down,
Onto her bed,
She can't go to sleep,
She's too upset.

Alone and angry or numb,
There's no in between,
She is either raging or happy as can be,
Sometimes she wonders if she's actually
Feeling anything.
The pain is like an ocean;
The waves crashing inside my chest,
Allowing me to envision myself drowning in it all,
And I feel I could search the whole sea
Without ever finding what I need.

I am aware that nothing's ever perfect,
But in my heart I feel like it could have been possible,
Although my head knows that I'm wrong.
I simply was not meant to have a father.

But do you know how much it hurts?
They say 'it never rains but it pours',
And I feel as though this hurt inside me is like an everlasting thunderstorm.
It subsides eventually for a few moments,
But it's all you remember as if the sunny spells in between were nothing.

This makes me feel like nothing.
Why wasn't I good enough?
Why did I not deserve to have a father? I cry inside in wonder.
Then I list the reasons
And I wait for ways to feel better,
Except I've never stopped waiting.
I try so hard to find a way to fix this,
Because it makes me feel so broken,
It never makes a difference though,
Because there's no solution.
I feel as if I am trapped in this box,
Where everyone else has put me
But I know I don’t belong.

Suffocated - they make me feel it,
I can’t stand existing inside this bubble:
The walls are thick, there’s no way out,
It’s the home of the unfound,
Where they put people like me who they can’t make sense of,
Patients they can’t diagnose unless it’s with the term “functional.”
I know there are others,
But I feel so alone,
Isolated from being understood
By the only people who are able to help me.

They won’t help me,
I try to fight back, I try to scream
Either no one hears me, or they take it as a mark of insanity.

It’s hard to speak up,
When you know the process all too well,
You walk in, they repeat things that hurt you (psychosomatic), and then you walk out,
Though you don’t know how,
Because inside you’re torn down again,
Answers aren’t found and each time is worse,
You’re still struggling but they insist
That you’re as healthy as you’ve ever been,
So once again you’ve been missed,
By professionals trained to catch out illness.

Every time your reality trips you down again,
You repeat the words they told you:
“You’re fine,”
You tell yourself you can do it
-But not out of encouragement,
Instead of disdain, because when no one acknowledges you
Why should you not question yourself?
We are taught from a young age these are the people you should depend on and treat with respect,
So even when they toss you aside:
Remember to say “thank you” and walk out with a smile,
Seeing as they believe that you really are wasting their time.

This is what nightmares are made of,
Except when you’re both asleep and awake
It’s always still there.
It’s hard enough passing each day this way,
But without an ounce of recognition,
I wonder why I should even stay.

I don’t want to do this anymore,
But still I have to knock on doors,
Basically asking people to reject what I live,
Constantly trying to prove that I’m sick,
To countless people who don’t give a ****.
It’s already too much effort existing like this,
Yet I have to get out of my bed to prove it,
Even though each time they write an essay about me being fine,
Or maybe a few words because I’m such a waste of time.
I face what I fear everyday because my health’s at fault,
Yet they say it’s not really at all.
It’s been a year and they still have the audacity to tell me,
It’s because I’m not coping mentally.

Maybe I am a mess psychologically,
But I want you to know, it’s only because of them.
I would be stable, I’d be perfectly fine,
If they didn’t keep coming around telling me my efforts are wasted,
That I just can’t deal with my mind no matter how much I already put in,
So clearly I will just never be fixed.
It’s what they’ve told me though, it’s all of their responses and words,
That made me question my sanity,
That dredge up all of my anger for them,
Because not one bit of acknowledgement did they spread.

So here I lay,
Stuck in this box where no one can see me,
I can’t fix myself because - it wasn’t my state of mind that was broken.
I’ve been here for four-hundred-and-seventeen days,
Where I try to imagine a future where I’ll be safe,
But the trauma of looking for a diagnosis I know will stay,
Because they told me it was only caused my trauma in the first place,
But the only kind I’ve experienced
Is the kind they inflicted whilst I was already suffering.
I recite the thoughts I pray,
I do so everyday,
Just because I like to think
The others will go away.

I thank the Lord for being healthy,
For my body being capable,
I'm pleased that my system's stable.

This is so the fever of my mind,
Won't persist through till mornings light.

I guess it works every time.
You see I might have caught a glimpse,
Of this girl who was called Mia,
She didn't stay too long though;
They said she was sickness,
And I had to be better.

But sometimes I hear her calling,
Most of the time she's silent,
Although she kindly likes to visit.
She likes to play this game
Of thoughts,
But I know that I'm winning.
She wants me to join her team,
Apparently I can't make up my mind,
Or at least that's as it seems.

I thank the Lord for my good health,
And it's bad to contradict,
When I recite my blessings I remember,
This means I cannot make myself sick.

So next time Mia joins me,
For just a little bit,
I remind her of what I know is right,
Even if she doesn't like it.
I tell myself to remain my state of mind:
That I can't go back there
Not just 'one more time'.

Have you seen this girl called Mia?
If you do, please walk away.
I know that she will beg you,
Tell you she wants to stay.
After a while, you'll have taken the time to see,
That this girl called Mia,
Is not actually all that pretty.
My body’s not broken
Maybe just my soul is then,
If it’s not my brain it’s just my psyche,
There really is nothing that I can get right.

I knew it wasn’t possible,
To be really loved by somebody else,
But this was what I preferred:
To feel so bad about what I did but be aware he didn’t actually care.
I hope he didn’t.

It’s just a part he can’t remember,
My friends told me he claimed to want the same, for us to end, only to make me feel better.
To do that he must have really thought so,
That I was good somewhere inside,
Even though I knew he just couldn’t see my darknesses,
But how could that be? I never did believe.
Surely he just wanted to make the rejection less,
If I used that it would have been to ease the embarrassment, pretend it wasn’t wrong.

Maybe it’s just easy,
To forget
Well, I know how easy it is to forget my whole existence,
No one ever knows when I’m there.

Before when I thought about how bad it was for him,
I did believe it because he was so
Everything
It seemed so true,
Not that it ever counts for much but I guess it was different.
However there was her,
He liked her not just before but afterwards,
I wasn’t jealous, I just pointed out that he didn’t like her
We weren’t her biggest fans together, I know that’s sad.
But if I was the middle and she was the
Start and end,
Maybe I was just a rebound of a crush, huh?

That would’ve been me trying to make myself feel better,
I feel guilty for even wondering this,
When he did everything right and
I was everything wrong.
Perhaps I really did just want attention.
The thing it taught was to never trust myself: mind or heart.
Both of these are always wrong
When it comes to the messed up person that is me.

I don’t think I’m capable
Of loving someone real,
And that’s only my fault still,
I’m not attempting excuses:
I’ve never believed in them inside my own surrounding essence.

I know I should stay away,
I knew it but still I played
With my imagination of wondering if anything could be an actuality,
It’s wrong, so wrong of me - but it was just a conversation,
And now I feel a mess over something so stupid, so small.
Of course I shouldn’t have meant anything at all.
Why don't you not eat?
Why do you dream when you are not asleep?
Why don't you try a little harder,
Because you're not good enough right now?
You always try to run away,
Knowing that you can't leave.
I wonder is it fun to fall back down,
When you trip over your own feet;
Your own mistakes; disasters;
With your vision distorted from tears no one else sees.
Concrete.
The barriers trap you,
You sit and silently scream
But for you it's much less peaceful,
Than it all seems.
You're suffocating fanaticising about being saved,
Most of the things you like about life are all just
Fake.
Who wants to be the first poem of the New Year.
Not me. Do you want to be?
I don't think you understand,
If you win then you really lose;
You'll either be in devastating pain;
Or you've made me hate it all.
If you write the first poem you'll be hurt, if you're the first person I've written about you've hurt me.
I know that I need to distance myself from these memories,
I know that, it's clearly no good for me.
I know I should focus on who I still have,
because I know they're the ones' who are worth it.
I'm sorry that I am not able to do that right now;
I don't know the cure for nostalgia.
You could tell me that it's my brains way
of clinging onto something long gone,
it's just it's the kind of pain
that I fear being without.

I know that it has changed so much now,
and I should let the memories fade,
But I am  scared of forgetting
and I don't want to forgive.
Forgiveness isn't an option after what they did,
and you don't forgive the wicked people who hurt your best friend like that.
They seemed so innocent.
They seemed so polite.
Now I'm forever facing the facts that they turned out nothing of the sort.

The memories aren't real anymore.
The people they were made with were fake,
because they've shown their true colours
and on the inside I can't handle it at all.
I know I have to stop thinking,
I know they don't deserve my last thoughts.
I thought everyone gets what they deserve in the end,
but now I'm not so sure.
She didn't deserve what they did to her,
Not in the slightest at all.
So how come those Devils are fine?
I know that I should be fine by now.

Push those memories and feelings back,
those girls' can't hurt you anymore.
I know some people would think I'm just hurting myself.
I know that prolonging this pain won't change them to who I thought they were.
I keep saying I know
But at the end of the day
I don't know what to do

So if someone finds a cure for nostalgia,
Please come looking for me.
She became such an outcast,
An outsider;
That she started to detest everything common.
She found everything muddled up in a cliché:
A cliché she refused to follow,
So it was in that, perhaps, that she could gain her destined mystery.
She felt that she creates too many imperfections
Out of pure self existence,
But of course she continues to exist anyway.
Let me draw you a picture.
One that tells the truth.
I won't try to make it beautiful.
I'll just make it so it's true.

You see there is a world today,
I guess with not much use.
We have plenty opportunities.
We have time without the effort.

We have some wealthy countries.
Yeah, that sounds really good.
You go on and see others with middle income.
Well that's not too bad!
Wait a Minute though.
You go on to realise ones without enough.

Not all countries have enough money.
Not all countries have enough food.
Not all have clean water.
Not all have reliable health care.
Not all have our other priorities.

Now get your head together.
It isn't that hard to see,
What is going wrong here.
The solution sounds easy.

There's many developed countries.
This is very good.
But why are some struggling,
While other ones are thriving?
Surely it should be equal.
If there's enough money in the world,
Why not just spread it round.
If everyone could just think,
Then the solution could be found.
I don't mean just found.
I'm sure people already know.
What we really need to do,
Is to imply it.
Then we can grow.

Can you see this picture clearer?
I've drawn it now,
It's done.
What comes into your mind?
A mess?
Black scribbles everywhere.
From here the world seems great.
I am thankful for that.
But why should other places not be?

Our parents, our families.
They teach us how to share.
Not only that,
But they teach us how to care.
Where did this go wrong then?
Stand with your eyes open.
Don't be tricked to only see the good bits.
You can also see the parts that are broken.

Why don't we get together.
Show the world what we're made of.
Show others that we all have a heart.
That's what is broken can be mended.
If we were to work together.
Not just as countries,
But as people of the earth.
We could all live in comforts.
A home to live and breathe in.
We wouldn't be alone,
Because everyone could have someone.
Now do you see?
This is the real picture of out Earth.
Sometimes I think I might like to complain
About hardly ever seeing you,
Because not once have I found you.

I've never been the child looking up to you
There's probably one of those now though,
A little girl or boy,
That you tuck into bed at night
With a kiss on the head.
You know they're the one thing that you don't regret.

You can't regret me either you know,
Because you don't know me.
I haven't happened,
Or at least that's what you think.
Surely you'd have known
But I guess that you didn't care,
Did you dad?
Is it okay?
Can I call you that?
No, it's not because you're nothing to me
You never have been.
I wanted you
Maybe I still do.
Hi again, it’s been a long time
You have and haven’t been here,
But I kind of thought you’d died.
Well no, how could I ever think that?
Don’t you think I always knew you were there?
It was extremely weird though:
You let me have things.

I walked into shops and I
Spoke to people.
At the beginning of your holiday,
I was sitting in class and trying to bring you back.
When everyone ditches you and even your social anxiety finally does.
I mean wow though, I was walking around and
You weren’t gripping my body,
I just did stuff, knowing that you shouldn’t let me.

Don’t worry, I knew there were still things that you wouldn’t let me do,
I couldn’t get a job like a normal person,
Even though I needed to.
I feel like it sounds stupid though, when I try to explain how far away you are,
Barely there, basically not,
Yet there’s still things I can’t do because you’re not that gone.

So you were really there the whole time,
But it was just so great,
Except from everyone else ruining things.
Social anxiety though? Good; it may as well have been gone.
It still feels like a lie writing this,
Because there’s no way you eased off for basically two years.
That is not a thing.

Now that I know I definitely had some sort of anxiety attack,
I don’t know, I think I’m calm again now
Just don’t think about it, just don’t think about it.
I’ve been reading a story I wrote when you were still wild every day,
I already knew you were more present,
But I found it crazy because I read what I wrote and actually thought:
I don’t even do this anymore.
But I guess I’m home now, in you.

People will read this and think that’s great
(and it is astounding, I’d never believe you),
But I don’t think I feel anything.
Do I get my excuses back now?
Can I use them again?
I have social anxiety, LET ME STAY INSIDE,
Now maybe it won’t be about me being normal like other people,
Because now I’ll know you’re here.

Whereas before it would be like “really, you can’t? I think you can, why not?”
No, wrong topic Chloe,
That’s what people say about your physical health.
And you managed to not come back throughout all that?
No one believed me, but I still don’t think you were there.
I tried so hard to politely prove them they were lying.
I told them how I’m great without you,
But no one ever listens
And now I’m reminded of the things I stupidly said,
So lets just tie all my problems together
And I’ll just go daydream until death again.
Because I'm a naturally self-protective person, I feel like I need to explain everything I wrote about so people understand. I won't though, I'm holding back, except when I say excuses I don't mean for the sake of making an excuse, I meant that it was valid and I'd need it.

Anyway, I just wrote this after getting out of an anxious situation which was fine, until like a few certain words were directed questioningly at me to be honest.
You can draw a line under what has happened,
But it's still gonna be there on the page.
And you can clean the blood away,
But you'll still always see it there.
You can cry for nights on end,
But you're still gonna have tears left.
You can shout and you can scream,
But you'll still have to sit and watch.
You can say you're giving up,
But you're still going to have to do it.
You can fall onto the ground,
But people will still wait for you to get up.
So you can do whatever you want,
But there's still going to be things you have to do.
I guess some of us just have to take the long route.
You tell me not to say I'm giving up,
You tell me not to say that this isn't that much,
You tell me not to build up walls,
Because you'll break them down anyway,
You tell me how much you think I deserve,
But I don't believe one little word.
"I can't read you my poetry,"
I say completely astonished:
"That's what confident people do,"
I hear myself say to an empty room.

("Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, the second one is looking for it")

Should I start to feel ashamed?
Because when people tell me I'm not confident now,
I want to scream that they're to blame,
And not for my so called "lack of self-confidence", only for their lies:
Because, I can be very confident sometimes,
I just probably won't tell you about it,
I don't want you to know,
If you thought I was so sure of myself, then that would make me low.

(I'm not speaking to myself though,
I'm simply conversing with people that you don't know are there,
And that's okay because,
I only do it noticeably when I'm alone.
They may not be real, but they exist to me,
Even more so than you and I.)

And yes, I know, that I have my moments;
I know what that feels like;
To question yourself and be convinced that
You're doing everything wrong,
I've had way too many times to recount to you,
But I also know, many occasions where I've secretly taken control back,
Where deep down, I know that I am kind of okay,
And I don't appreciate you questioning that,
Unless that's what I'm purposely trying to make you do.
-And maybe I'm slowly starting to ascertain, or wonder
That it's actually a bit manipulative,
And the fact I do it to make myself feel better
Is kind of messed up,
But honestly? It didn't seem like that when I did it,
I thought it was natural to be self-protective.
It’s as if I’m stuck inside a shell I can’t see out of.
I’ve never been able to even try to tear my way out because that is too much.
I dream of all these things inside,
But on the outside I can’t get there.
I know it’ll always be hard work and I’ll just have to try,
But I can’t force myself to be confident and have nothing at all to say.
I can imagine as many situations as I like,
Plan out some different possible future jobs.
Only I’ll never be able to get there,
Because I **** at social skills.
Right now I’m trying to figure out what to do,
Right now I can’t find any solution.
I’ll get there because I have to,
However I really don’t know how to escape from this zone of comfort.
It’s something that I don’t seem capable to fight.
I am not in anyway comparing this to social problems because it's not that bad but this is how I've been feeling. I'm thinking of being something like a social worker or a nurse when i'm older and basically everything and day to day life requires to be social and i really don't seem that good at it. I guess I'm okay but nowhere near as good as some people I know and for what i want to do i need to be social. also when meeting new people like friends of friends i basically close myself off from everyone and it makes my friends ask if i'm okay which i am, i guess i don't like people but i like people enough to want to have a job involving helping people? I don't know.
The Waterfall,
Is blue with silver highlights.
It appears clear and clean,
Rapidly flowing into the stream.
The water is frothy,
Where it falls to hit the water.
At least things like this,
Are caught when they fall.
The sunlight still shining,
The water doesn't mind.
It continues it's journey,
Searching for it's destination.

The waterfall.
It's beautiful,
A sight to all.
But how do we know,
What's hiding underneath?
We hide pain,
All in our fake smiles.
What if this waterfall,
Hides things in it's beauty?
If we wait long enough,
Do you think we could see?
And so we come to live in the world
thinking nothing is nothing,
and everything is everything.
When really what we think is nothing
Is everything
And what we think is everything
Is nothing.
It's not about what you don't have:
it's about what you do have.
It's not about synthetics:
it's about the real things that matter.
Open your eyes to the real world.
You may not like what you see,
but the truth is that if you're reading this,
you may have more than you think.
All the things we do,
For illness,
To make ourselves worse;
It fuels the pain,
But we know we're just going back again.

What's the use?
Why not lose when there's
Nothing left
To win?
We give in,
Just so that this nothingness can win.

It's fine,
You're going to survive,
But do you completely want to?
Maybe you can't decide,
So instead you hide it inside.

You're told to get better,
But what does that mean?
It means you stop acting,
You get over it eventually.
Really?
Maybe if you're careful;
Find a way to fix yourself;
Make sure you don't break again.

Now move forward,
It's been a few years,
That's what everyone thinks.
You're all good now,
Even you believe,
At last you can do anything
-except what you were doing,
That is.
Avoid it like the plague,
To try to stay safe,
Although really you try creeping back,
Just to catch a glimpse of something
You know you shouldn't be looking at.

Then you wonder
About sending yourself back:
To the days in Hell,
The fight for escape,
Waiting for it to be over,
To be left alone.
**** the actions first,
Then learn how to cope
Without what you were destroying yourself with.

You're fine for now,
At least you guess you are,
Only you're surrounded by sorrow,
The misery with bouts of
Alright, just great.
But darkness lurks around the corner,
So will you follow,
Or do what you're supposed to be continuing with?

You want control,
Part of you wants to feel something,
Other than these emotions,
To stop hearing these thoughts,
And press stop on the memories,
Because with the present it hurts you,
Damaging - like what doesn't exist.

One time, go on:
Repeat like you used to,
What's the reason not to
When you just feel like you're lacking
Some of what you need?
And what is that?
The truth, surrender,
A cease to all this,
Someone else to leave?

You know it will push you somewhere,
Into a harsh reality
But one you hope that might be different,
From the one that pains you,
Even if you'll be guilty.
You'll have the satisfaction
Of finally
Doing something.
Again. You said never again,
But that wasn't true,
Did you even mean that?
You wonder as you retake
Your past baleful steps.

It doesn't own the same reasons
This time.
You just want to prove your
Destructive existence to yourself,
Even though you miss your
Dissociation from reality.
Maybe because if you do it,
It means you're not one hundred percent,
Just don't let anyone know,
Why should it harm anyone,
Except you because that's the whole issue?

It's okay though,
You've figured it out,
Like you always knew,
You were only kidding yourself,
You know you'd have to live
With the unhelpful effects,
It doesn't need to be any harder,
Than it already is.
All the things we do,
For illness,
To make ourselves worse;
It fuels the pain,
But we know we're just going back again.

What's the use?
Why not lose when there's
Nothing left
To win?
We give in,
Just so that this nothingness can win.

It's fine,
You're going to survive,
But do you completely want to?
Maybe you can't decide,
So instead you hide it inside.

You're told to get better,
But what does that mean?
It means you stop acting,
You get over it eventually.
Really?
Maybe if you're careful;
Find a way to fix yourself;
Make sure you don't break again.

Now move forward,
It's been a few years,
That's what everyone thinks.
You're all good now,
Even you believe,
At last you can do anything
-except what you were doing,
That is.
Avoid it like the plague,
To try to stay safe,
Although really you try creeping back,
Just to catch a glimpse of something
You know you shouldn't be looking at.

Then you wonder
About sending yourself back:
To the days in Hell,
The fight for escape,
Waiting for it to be over,
To be left alone.
**** the actions first,
Then learn how to cope
Without what you were destroying yourself with.

You're fine for now,
At least you guess you are,
Only you're surrounded by sorrow,
The misery with bouts of
Alright, just great.
But darkness lurks around the corner,
So will you follow,
Or do what you're supposed to be continuing with?

You want control,
Part of you wants to feel something,
Other than these emotions,
To stop hearing these thoughts,
And press stop on the memories,
Because with the present it hurts you,
Damaging - like what doesn't exist.

One time, go on:
Repeat like you used to,
What's the reason not to
When you just feel like you're lacking
Some of what you need?
And what is that?
The truth, surrender,
A cease to all this,
Someone else to leave?

You know it will push you somewhere,
Into a harsh reality
But one you hope that might be different,
From the one that pains you,
Even if you'll be guilty.
You'll have the satisfaction
Of finally
Doing something.
Again. You said never again,
But that wasn't true,
Did you even mean that?
You wonder as you retake
Your past baleful steps.

It doesn't own the same reasons
This time.
You just want to prove your
Destructive existence to yourself,
Even though you miss your
Dissociation from reality.
Maybe because if you do it,
It means you're not one hundred percent,
Just don't let anyone know,
Why should it harm anyone,
Except you because that's the whole issue?

It's okay though,
You've figured it out,
Like you always knew,
You were only kidding yourself,
You know you'd have to live
With the unhelpful effects,
It doesn't need to be any harder,
Than it already is.
This is an old one I just found.
I am so much
Better
Than you would have me believe,
And each time you do this
I stand taller than you think I can

But I am exhausted
Of being stronger than they all believe,
When it doesn’t get me anywhere.
Anger is starting to quell and fill up my head along with the misery,
I don’t see the point of stopping it.
They give me no reason to conquer anything.

You have no idea
What all of this amounts to,
It actually makes me feel a bit hysterical
About how many things are wrong with this,
How many thoughts and feelings have been conjured from the impact;
The impact,
That you, of course, deny is even happening.

Maybe one day this will all just end,
At least a thousand years from now I must definitely be dead
And then it will be over.
If only I could wake up one day
And pretend this isn’t happening,
And eventually it could actually be convincing.
Maybe there won’t be so many
Emotions
Filling my head like a poison to myself and others and
It could all just be
Gone.
And it never would have happened.

Even if I could get over it,
And pretend it hasn’t changed me,
Pretend it hasn’t caused an ounce of impact:
That would be too much like what you’ve been wanting.
So whatever I do it hurts me
With acceptance or denial
When I can never
Never
Deny any of it.
But you do.
And I’m the last person to go around blaming people,
But oh Hell and Heaven do you tempt me.

I don’t want to have to think about this everyday,
I’m sure it will always be there though
And I wish I wouldn’t have to worry about this,
But every reaction you make causes more damage
And you’re not even slightly important,
It must be good there’s hardly anyone else
Who is actually in my life,
To risk having a similar reaction.

Everywhere they all say,
That’s the thing, all you have to do
Is not to care and then it can’t hurt you.
I must agree I’ve said that too sometimes,
But I don’t care for them at all
I don’t really care what they think
But it won’t ease the tension or aggravation that’s building up inside of me.
Nostalgia. Nostalgia. Nostalgia.
I'll tell you what it is,
right when a thousand memories crash into me.
Immerse myself in water
and wonder why I'm here,
why I'm being stalked by the memories I hold dear.
Close to my heart,
something rips apart.
And when you feel the sorrowful pain
You'll know
It's nothing a work of art.
I'm not defending him,
I'm just stating how I felt
that he was the world and the sunshine,
Even when everything else was a storm.

He was something I wanted to believe in,
Even if I knew that I should not.
Still I can't look at him without thinking what I thought,
I can't link what I've discovered when I'm looking at his face,
or listening to his voice in words that comfort me
and take the only place I seem to hold for him.

I know everyone is only an illusion,
I knew it all before,
This didn't have to be another lesson,
That everyone else seems to take better.

I've memorised, you see,
Everything that will happen
and how you should respond to it.
I knew it all along this journey and did not once forget,
I pushed it aside instead
because I wanted something more.

Now I stand and watch everyone being angry,
Being hateful and for the former rightfully so,
and probably for the latter.
I don't have a place in it though,
I can't do it and I don't want to,
So most of the time I am quiet instead,
Because I know my reasoning isn't in anyone's head.

I know you can't offer sorrow or mercy,
Not to him, and only deranged looks at me.
I believe something went wrong,
Which obviously you can all see,
I know you don't care for the deeper, darker picture
But I can't help but be intrigued.
I know you'd say I'm delusional, weak minded even,
That I just have to find a way to make the reality a little lighter.
You're probably right.

But I don't want to hate him.
I'm getting more distant I think,
In the months away from him,
It's almost like he's not real now:
a figment of a teenage dream,
Tarnished by the nightmares he knew he had created
And hid for his own benefit.

He's a danger to others,
I guess I'm starting to see this slightly when I see his face,
It comes with practice and repeated words to remind myself before I look.
With more time I suppose he'll have completely vanished
And mean less and less,
So that one day I may not need to offer sympathy.

It's just a little secretly funny,
How I doubt my trust for men,
But I ignored his faults so easily,
After all he couldn't touch me
He was too far away, too in my dreams.
Maybe he's just a statement
of how I know to never believe.
It's being around people;
And being all alone.
Everyone is together and happy,
There's loudness of the words and fun they have.
In a way I wanted to be alone,
But I also wanted to stay and see.
It's standing in a room watching life and it's happenings
Without being involved.

Together with people is to be alone
(When your few friends aren't around).
By yourself you're stuck wanting
To be with someone now.

But there's too many memories,
They fill too much of the space.
I look to the distance and can see them replay,
Just like how they say you can have out of body experiences.
I was more than happy;
Even when I could be sad.
These times fill my heart with passion,
Just in order to break it truly apart.

It's like everywhere I go,
I see them and what we did.
I seem to see the thoughts and the feelings,
But that's if I ever really did.
Today I endured an hour of memory replay,
Was asked if I was okay twise,
Then went home not knowing my thoughts or emotions
Being wound up in confusion for at least three hours straight.

I don't know how to deal with this,
When I've already hated one fake friend so much.
Now it seems it's all been used up.
I can't have my thoughts in the same way,
Because they were not meant to end like the last.
If it was as good as we thought it was,
None of us would let it get this bad,
If what happened didn't;
We could've tried to fix anything.
Anything else.

But we didn't let it get this bad.
To my real friend in this: you have done no wrong.
It was all of the others.
They somehow did this,
But to say this before would have sounded and felt so wrong.

Time heals does it?
I guess we'll have to wait and see,
However as of the last time,
Time and distance still doesn't seem to be working for me.
I still hopelessly hope to wake up,
And let it all be a horrible dream.
Call me melodramatic I don't care, I understand so no one else really needs to.
Too many thoughts to be processed,
So much that it can't be made sense
Darkness surrounds,
So nothing is found,
Because the hollow goes too deep.
Whatever needs shortening;
Lasts too long.
When you're made want to be caved in
All you get is a replay of your sins.
I thought of how it seems like,
Oh let's make Chloe feel crap day.
Then I remembered that it's Thursday.
So yeah,
It really is.
It's always Thursdays.
Sometimes Thursdays have been fine.
But when a day of the week hasn't been fine,
It's been a Thursday.
I don't know why.
Thursdays should be good.
I have good lessons that day.
It just seems like,
Everything's against me then.
No, not people.
It's just feelings.
They appear from nowhere,
With no reason to be here.
No it's not very extreme,
But it's my less good days.
It's a Thursday.
As fierce as they can be,

Tigers hunt to survive.

They only do,

What they have to do.

Did you know,

If pray was in sight,

The tiger wouldn't even attack,

Unless it was hungry for a snack.

Tigers aren't all bad.

Not at all really.

They just find their way,

Trying to live.

There's a food chain,

You can't avoid that fact.

They need to eat meat,

So what can they do,

If they didn't ****?

They'd die of course!

Would you be happy then?

Because humans hunt them too.

We don't need them for food.

We don't HAVE to **** them for medicine,

Why do most of them **** tigers?

Only for their skin.

Yes, it is beautiful,

But it's not ours to take.

You shouldn't **** tigers,

Just for their stripes.

They would only **** you,

If they needed food.

Food of which,

Some struggle to find.

It's sad this isn't the only reason,

That most of them die.

Those cruel people,

Set up traps all their habitat.

When trapped,

All is painful.

The more that they struggle,

The tighter it gets.

If they're not dead,

By the time those people come,

They will surely **** them,

And all because they want to be rich.

Tigers need saving.

They need our help now.

They're already endangered,

But they have no good enough reason,

To die right out.

We don't need tiger skin.

Can't anyone see that,

It only looks nice on that tiger?

But no, tigers get killed.

It's not their fault,

That people want their beautiful skin.

They may be running out of food,

Because they're running out of trees.

Without the trees,

They don't have much to hide in.

But the poachers don't help.

In fact the truth is,

They make everything unfairly worse.

So please help them.

Donate to charity.

We can save the tigers,

From the cruelty of today.

At the same time as this,

We could help save the trees.

Without the trees,

There is no jungle.

Without the jungle,

There's no home for tigers.
I am very passionate about tigers, if you have the money then please donate. There is WWF and also other charity's where I'm sure you could also give one off payments instead of sponsoring.
I don't want to need you anymore,
Sick and tired of you not being there.
It's not my problem anymore.
It's my fault, it's my stupid brain.
I have to imagine things to make me happy,
I get too **** caught up in them.
Well not now and not anymore,
Because I've changed my mind.
I'm not gonna depend on things anymore.
I've always thought I'd never need anyone,
Yet I imagine myself with people.
I don't have them and them I don't want.
I want myself and that's enough.
I'm going to live my life.
Take what is mine and maybe one day I will leave you behind.
Maybe one day I won't like you at all.
It's all good for me,
You're not pleasing, you see.
But if you ever change your mind.
I guess part of me will still be waiting,
However I can't afford to wait behind.
So for those feelings it is goodbye.
Hopefully I'll know what it's like to just friendly like you.
Truth be told
I'm terrorised with fear,
Because I'm not about to get a father,
I know I'll get a nightmare.
I don't want to enter the place, again,
Where I wish I could go back to my dreams,
To try to make it all better,
Because the reality will be painfully in front of me
And I'll never be able to make it disappear.
Well I can't think.
But I think all the time.
And I can't stay calm.
When everything about me is wrong.
I can always breathe.
But I don't always take that as good.
I'm thinking differently now.
And it's not at all positive.
I don't know what I have faith in.
Seems like negativity outweighs religion.
I can't even look at school work.
I just want to tear it up.
I guess I could try and push.
But I doubt it would work.
I don't see I'll ever get that done.
Each day I question what might've been sanity.
And everyday that seems to get smaller.
I see the stress.
I feel the occasional tears.
What can you do in the world.
When the world's against you.
Capable of sleeping but stay up too late.
Then worry about not getting enough.
Which makes even more stress.
That you already have.
Life's a *****.
It's not my friend.
It's not yours either.
Because one day we'll all reach our death.
Then there will be nothing left.
You won't know pain.
Because you won't be here.
Those left behind hurting.
Well one day they'll die anyway.
If there's a purpose for life.
Then it is to die.
So the reason there's a start.
Is that there's an end.
Which means there's no point.
So I may as well be dead.
But this is just all too ironic.
This poem is by a happy girl.
With everything going.
She'd never throw away her life.
And thinks it's such an amazing gift.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I can still write this.
With meaning as well.
Because this life is just eternal hell.
Well until the our death day.
Then there's just a bunch of nothingness.
You won't even be able to say.
"Oh well."
I tell myself I don’t want him,
I tell myself,
I tell myself
But then I cry so hard
Going in reverse to a place that I’ve never yet been.

It’s supposed to get easier,
That’s what they tell you,
But this is only ever weighing heavier.
I could try to be what I imagine you’d have wanted,
But why should your mistakes make me feel ashamed?
And because of my existence I never
Want to give you what you want.

I guess I should hide the anger from my eyes,
But why prevent it when all you feel is volatile and pathetic?
Complaints when I hold it in and accusations when I don’t,
Sometimes I feel I should just hold kindness for myself.

When I have time I feel exhausted,
Later I feel like a failure to have let him win again:
It shouldn’t matter,
It shouldn’t matter.
They’d probably tell me negative affirmations don’t work,
Except to me they’re stating positives.
I’m trying to make it okay,
I’m trying to be better.

Always, I say, I don’t want him
And now his nonexistent thoughts won’t go away,
It must be my fault for becoming upset because really he’s done nothing
(Even if I can’t claim that without my own blood boiling),
Teasing myself with non-realities, with fairytales and broken dreams of a type of heaven I will never see.

My small voice murmurs,
“I want it, please.”
My brain tells me it would be better not to breathe.
In the dark it likes to help me,
Supporting in my self-destruction,
Simply because why shouldn’t it?
It’s a weapon I can use to back up anything no matter the relevance.
I’ve subtracted all the logical ways this could ever matter,
Yet it’s still here waiting for me to succumb,
Lately it gets pointless to want to hold back.
Nevertheless, with every single thought I have a defence
Because I never want anyone else to win,
I need to be ready,
I need to be able to show them all:
That this never meant a thing to me.

That just wouldn’t make sense,
To admit such sacrificial things
When I shouldn’t be the one to feel bad,
So no, just because I know it’s his fault,
Does not mean his absence hurts me.

It’s all just softly (painstakingly) nonexistent to me.
I'm not happy at all
And I can't seem to explain it very much for people to see its actuality,
Not enough to understand how much it consumes me
When I don't even know myself.

It's a good job I don't have a father
Because he'd only ever be disappointed in me
Every single second.
I don't even know why it keeps coming back to that;
I find it repulsing because I never used to care
And I never should and it makes me hate everything a little more
Each and every time I fall again.

I hate the way this poem complains
And sounds like a pointless wining child.
It's just like I'm listing complaints,
Which literally I am
How ******* pathetic is that?
I can't even make it go right and now that I've started
I wish I'd stopped.
In just a few seconds I'll post to prove
Just how much I get wrong daily.

Don't think I'm asking for sorrow and praise,
I never do that because I know there won't be any responses.
People complain elsewhere about being taken ill
Some people wonder if it's also for attention,
But if I did that then I wouldn't get a single mention.

All my aggravation is erupting to the surface,
But volcanoes create a more magnificent disaster
Whereas my destruction is purely chaotic,
No one else notices.
I either try to hide it or attempt to subtly admit it
Which I guess no one takes seriously
And I keep thinking it doesn't need to be.
I'm starting to wonder if it will actually become a problem
Because it feels like a lot,
Although as it's me
It's probably not.
(By the way I'm not trying to make volcanic eruptions sound any less destructive -physically and emotionally-, just that they're interesting in the geographical complexity.)
I'm caught up in the mist that is my mentality.
I lust for the truth,
except it's hard to find.
The clouds fall down
and it's hard to see:
Only falsities can ascend in the darkness.

When you have too much will,
there's no way,
and no place where you can go.

Stuck in my despair of not knowing what to do so,
I give myself a time scale
of learning things I'll never know.

Do I even want the truth,
or will it be worse than the unknown?

I still live in the longingness of finding,
I have no clue where I am even going.

But maybe it's further away.

Can I leave myself behind,
or is this already my decay?

Something always has to break to bits.

Just until it's

Gone.

Left.

Like everything else.
I mimic the gesture
And disappointment seeps in,
How can I still joke about this
When I know I could give in?
I cannot brush my teeth each day,
Without remembering.
I wonder why I get more triggered now,
Than I remember feeling.
I feel like I'm betraying everyone I care about,
When I even dare to think about it,
Yet they never know a thing.
If I could lock this all up in a bottle
Fill it with stones, I'd throw it into the water
And watch it as it drowns
All my sorrows, all the pain
Along with the disasters and too many betrayals;
From those that I loved most,
Or so I thought,
But it turned out they weren't themselves at all.
It doesn't sting it just tears
Everything completely apart.
As for the last, I had already learned why not to trust
But still you have to trust someone even though you know not,
Because that's just the way that the world has to turn.
You still believe a few,
However you believed them all when they were false.
But you have to put faith somewhere so you do,
Yet you're still terrified these as well aren't true.
If only it were a foolish boy
Then life would live on and it wouldn't matter,
Because anyway it's to be expected:
That guys will break girls hearts.
No, if only, but no
Instead they're your best friends.
Except they're not,
Everyone's just fake now.
There's no realists anymore.
If I could wash away the deceitfulness they gave,
Maybe someway a wound could heal.
But it can't 'cause it's too deep
And infected with grief of those you thought existed;
Instead everyone is just misleading and manipulative.
The worst thing because you could never see it coming,
Until it crushes you to near death.
Betrayal at its best.
Fakers at their worse depth to the innocent.  
There is never an end
Just torture.
I see his face inside my head,
Scenes flash in front of me
And then I realise it's all just
Make-believe.
I think I hear a voice screaming.
It's inside my head and I can't tell if it is mine.
All I know is I'm not allowed to be myself,
Inside of my head.
Sir you see, somehow my insides,
They will never be enough for me.
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