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Ren 9s
We weren't ready to love;
on that, we agreed.

And now as we part ways, you ask
if you killed my muse?

No, darling,
just halted temporarily.

Lies, for it is worse.
Every past love has killed a part of me.
For many people, their art is greatly influenced by strong emotion.
Ren Mar 26
There are times when I can't remember
what I had for breakfast,
or what I said a minute ago,
or what day of the week it is.

But the one thing I can never forget
is the way I just SAT there
and did nothing.

I can never forget the starving look in his eyes,
or the repetitive thoughts of
this isn't right, I don't want this.

WHY DIDN'T I LEAVE?



"Why didn't you say no?"
I'm still so afraid...

Constant thoughts that everyone's using me, I'm just some gullible toy until they get bored.
Ren Mar 22
Today my knee popped again.
For the fifteenth time since it's began.

Skinned palms from breaking my fall.
Again, the hot blade of searing pain.
I hate how these are things I can perfectly recall.

I've sworn myself not to cry;
instead, my body goes into shock.
Screaming as if I were to die.

Catching my breath, the agony is finally over.
I used to be helped up from the ground.
But now, I get the cold shoulder.

In Phy Ed. class, they whispered that it was for attention.
I found that funny, considering I hate that.
And the brace, I would never mention.
Hello? Customer service? Can I get a refund? My knee doesn't seem to be working properly.
Ren Mar 20
The worst kind of death
is the kind that eats away.
Year by year.

The kind of death
that saps strength
'til there's none left.

The kind of death that can't be cured; only treated.
By injecting radioactive chemicals
into her bloodstream.

The kind of death that she tells me,
"feels like I've been hit by a truck,"
every morning when she wakes up.

The kind of death that steals
her future and mine,
and causes even the hardest of heart to cry.

The kind of death that comes with a genetic mutation,
a survival rate of 10-15%,
and 4 years left to live.

The worst kind of death
is the kind of death that is killing my mom.
And eventually, will **** me.
Yeah....

life is kinda mean.
Ren Mar 10
Hey you.
Yeah, you.
You're newly 14, I'm newly 16.
Here is my advice to you.

I know you're broken.
I know you're tired.
I know you're hurt.
And guess what?
You will still be broken, tired, and hurt.

****'s pretty tough right now, yeah?
Well, boy do I have news for you.
It's only going to get more difficult.

Remember when you said you'd never cut
because the thought made you sick?
Well, a year later, you can guess what happened.
Don't worry, you've been clean for a month.

If there's anything you should know, it's this;
Stop trying to do everything yourself.
Stop lying to Mom, and stop thinking that Dad is mean.
They really do love you, trust me.
And if you don't trust anyone else, at least trust yourself.

Please talk to Mom.
Don't shut yourself away in your room.
Spend time with her while you still can.
You don't know it yet, but...she only has a few years left.
Make those years the best of your life, not the worst.
You don't know it yet, but she won't see you graduate college.
She won't see you get married, or open your first art gallery.

Don't procrastinate on those essays.
Putting them off won't get rid of the fact that you still have to write them.
While we're on the topic, be more open with your teachers.
Don't let them call you the wrong name because it makes things "easier".
Tell them who you are.
They will accept you.
They have to accept you.
It's against the law for them to discriminate.

More than anything, don't be afraid.
Don't be afraid to be who you are.
Don't be afraid to stand up for yourself.
Don't be afraid to try. new. things.

And on a sadder note, yes, you did eventually attempt suicide.
You still haven't even told your friends yet, you're afraid that it'd break them.

Don't focus too much on the worst parts.
You will move on from that toxic relationship.
You will be able to love again.
Although, you will always still flinch.
That may never go away.

The path you're on is filling with ***-holes, bumps, and steep hills.
Keep trudging on.
You were never one to choose the easy route.
****, life didn't even give you an option.
But I know that you're determined.
I believe in you.

Know this;
You might not think so, but you're very important.
If you can't live for yourself, live for your friends.
They need you.
I need you.

Keep your head up kid.
It's going to get tough.
But you're pretty tough too.
In the meantime, stay alive.
There are people here who need you.
You're going to do great things.
Stay strong.
Stay proud.
Be you.

- Ren
something i can come back to
Ren Mar 10
He had always been confusing to me.
I think we consider ourselves to be friends.
I never could tell if he meant the things he said.

I had this preconceived idea about him,
based on what others have told me.

"Don't trust him."
"He's a player."
"He seems nice, but it's only a cover."

I was at the band and choir competition, looking for my friend.
I flung open the door of the vocal warm-up room, the fieldhouse,
and my heart stopped.

He was the only one there, yet he seemed to fill the room.
Twirling around,
singing his heart out,
jumping from piano to piano, playing the accompaniment to his song.

He must've stolen that voice from the cosmos,
for I've never heard anything so celestial.

He turned to me, still singing,
but I'm not sure if he really saw me.
He saw those empty bleachers as packed to the brim, all listening eagerly.


There is something indescribably vulnerable about singing.
I was awestruck, at a loss for words.

How could someone so emotionally raw be characterized as---manipulative?
I don't know.
Ren Mar 6
I hate the word "perfect".


Nobody can be perfect.
It's literally impossible.

They say, "Don't change, you're perfect as you are."
Humans can't be perfect.
It's not in our nature.

Our media portrays perfection as people's personalities painted in pretty pastel.
Don't be fooled.
Perfection is disgusting.

Perfection
is tearing your hair out over a simple dashed line
in front of the "A" on the report card.

Perfection
is raking chewed cuticles across your cheeks
for missing the kick in Phy. Ed class.

Perfection
is spilling your guts out after every meal and screaming into the mirror,
"Am I perfect yet?! Am I good enough for you?!"

Perfection
is ripping apart the artwork you poured your heart into
because someone pointed out a flaw, and now you can't unsee it.

Perfection
is gorging on painkillers
as if they would take away the emotional pain, too.

Don't you dare tell me that I'm perfect
because perfection is disgusting.


I hate the word "perfect".
I'm tired of people saying that perfection is something to glorify and strive for. Some people are literally broken apart by the expectations of perfection.
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