Raging tides crash on your shore.
Silence haunts the once sonorous street.
A heart that yearns for a melodious chord
and a voice awaiting its master's speech.

Well deserved and well endured.
These years and hours have left us cured.
Of a vice that only music invokes.
Better days shall come, silence assured.

For if I speak, I shall rage the men.
the men that hold the balance of fate
Anarchy as it is, what shall happen when
I embrace my pain and let cries escape ?

Lets fight a battle on the silent plains
the victor chooses the fate of sound
Will silence forever continue to thrive ?
or victory be loudly cheered around ?

To battle, I shall bring my song.
Sing to you what I had wrote.
You may bring your sharpened blade,
and swing it through my dulcet note.

From the dead silence that cleared
The sounds of victory had appeared,
reveled and graced the listening ears,
would abide therein for the coming years.

Had the ill not been spoken.
Had we let ourselves resist.
The world would've been quieter now,
not knowing ever that I exist.

I wrote my way out of the dark pages of my life.
I know what it's like to see your life hanging by a thread;
scraping your skin with your fingernails to stop yourself from crying;
weaving scars on your skin to get some high out of life.

Smiling on the outside, but tearing up on the inside.
I've been there,
disguising last rites as declarations of love;
holding out for that one guy for some unjust reason.
I was once told I was beautiful on the inside,
I used to scoff at that thought.
I couldn't be beautiful,
my metaphorical skin was sewed and patched, ruined and defiled
and there was nothing beautiful about that.
It took me a while to see that beauty for myself.
I was once that one girl sitting in corner at midnight
contemplating suicide over family tiffs, unrequited love, loss, loneliness, and every other
stuff that I couldn't deal with.
I can't look at my left wrist
without feeling some sort of disgust because of the tallies of pain
I left behind.

I had this habit of saying 'I'm always good' whenever asked
but I got tired of seeing illusions as reality,
I was tired of escaping my own life. I was not okay and I needed help.

I wish somebody had told me
this sooner:

MELANCHOLY IS NOT TRENDY, DEPRESSION IS NOT COOL,
CUTTING IS NOT A FASHION STATEMENT
SADNESS IS NOT ATTRACTIVE

It's actually sad that we,
teenagers,
advertise sadness as if it's something to be proud of.  

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL
YOU DON'T NEED VALIDATION FROM PEOPLE
DON'T LET HIM TELL YOU HE LIKES YOU BETTER WHEN YOU'RE BROKEN.
NO, SCARS DO NOT MAKE YOU ATTRACTIVE
SOME SCARS AREN'T WORTH HAVING
CRAZY IS NOT ****
**** IS NOT ALWAYS ****** SHEDDING A FEW KILOS WON'T MAKE HIM LIKE YOU ANY MORE THAN HE DOES
UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS DON'T HEAL --words I wish I'd  heard sooner

You are not broken beyond repair

YOU ARE A PHOENIX,
A PHOENIX MUST BURN TO EMERGE.

waking up with
sadness that lingers deep
a quiet aching

Who am I really?
My friend asked me this question(And it was not you nina)
who are you really?

Who am I really?
I don't really know
because at home
I act for my family

at school
I act for my friends

at church
I act for the preachers

and alone
I act for myself

so who am I really?
I don't know
and I never stop asking