𝕻𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙 𝕺𝖋 𝕭𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖇𝖆
𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖔 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖔𝖗  
𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖆 𝖕𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕭𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖇𝖆  
𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖊𝖆𝖗  
𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖇'𝖘 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖌𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖆    
𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝖛𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊  
𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖔'𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖈𝖐  
𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖓  
𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖌𝖓𝖎𝖟𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖌𝖌  
𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖘𝖊  
𝖓𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘  
𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖔 𝖔𝖋 𝖇𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘

I am a misfit
and I'm okay with that
I mean, I have to be
I don't want to blend in
and be the same as everyone else
I don't like clean girl makeup
but it's okay if you do
I like bold makeup
and it's okay if you don't
I am unique and different
sure, it might be hard to make friends similar to me
but I'd rather have little to no friends
by being myself
than having lots of friends
by being someone else
I may be lonely now
but it's even lonelier being someone you're not
I'm a misfit
and I'm okay with that

yes, I'm a poet
and I'm proud of it too
but reality sinks in letting me wallow in self-pity
I'll always be the poet
never a poem
I'll write about their eyes
their laugh
their perfect imperfections
but no one will capture my laugh
my smile
my beautiful flaws
I will always be a poet
but never a poem
I will write about beauty and grace
about love and heartache
but no one will turn me into a poem
I am stuck giving people words
and never getting any in return

my friend, you are important to me
when I'm with you, I'm as happy as can be
that's true you see

you are talented and beautiful
you are funny and honest
you are kind and sweet

your deep brown eyes glitter in the sun
your curly dark hair frames your face nicely
your smile is contagious and bright

my friend, I will not leave you
when you're feeling blue
I'll cheer you up, it's true

we're inseparable
we're linked
we're forever friends

my scars
should I be ashamed of them
the answer isn't clear
but what I know is
that I find them beautiful
they may not have came from beauty
but they grew to be

the scars erupted from pain and misery
I was searching for an escape
an outlet for my despair
I found it in blades

they marred my skin
but I love them so
I don't want to be judged for them
but I find beauty in the pain

Happiness comes from
somewhere

far away


Happiness comes from
what the world could not stave

For I reach out to the light

but inside I find
nothing but a reflection
I face
no comprehension

and I reach out again
with

nothing;

in my hand,
my heart,
my soul,
my self,

unbeknownst of the answer
I already
held.

I stand on a cliff,
at the edge of the world.
Letting the wind and the sky envelop

me.

I run for it.
I run for the adrenaline and the life.
The ground breaks beneath
my feet

I float with the air,
the sun is in my hands.

The world crumbles.
Nevermind,
the stars still look after me

even as I
awake.