I hate how I am one of those people who work hard and gets mediocre marks. I absolutely loathe it. I am sad and devastated.  My soul is slipping away.

Have you ever sat down and thought " wow how am I this unhappy? ! "
You sit there not understanding. How am I actually genuinely unhappy like this ? Also , why am I still breathing ?

Tonight I find out that I have 3 more siblings.
Tonight I find out I have been lied to for 17 years.
Tonight I can't believe how naive I actually was.
Tonight I angry that my mother married such a man.
Tonight I am angry that she doesn't know.
Tonight I am furious because she doesn't deserve any of this.
Tonight I will sleep next to her feeling guilty.
Tonight I shall get myself some pills.
Tonight I shall make sure I don't see tomorrow.
I don't want to anyway...
I want to be in my home, a home I call a grave.

I wish I was sad because then I can be happy again.  Unlike depression where you hurt yourself so much the previous night and put on a phasade the following day laughing with your friends.  Ive lost myself alive. Depression,  my favourite nightmare to be lucid in. I die in it and I feel myself sinking into a void.

I love black and people ask me why I respond and say that's my soul.  I am forever thinking about our conversations, thinking  of the almost I love you at the back of my heart.  Too often,  I love you blindly.  I fear that once you see who and what iam will have you crippled.  I want to open the doors that will lead you to my soul.

you may not accept my demons of the secret place and I do not want to chase you away. Every compliment you throw at me takes a piece of my soul. I want to submit to your love.

too often, I love you silently, too often I go on about how it doesn't last long. I put such little effort in trying to be happy and when I see you, so much comes out even though I may not show it. The ink, it runs out.  You are poetry to me and your name is by far my favourite metaphor.  You have left a fingerprint on my soul and it will forever stay there regardless of when you leave. Maybe, I like or love you too brutally? I forbid you to have anymore involvement in me.  You are going to leave anyway in the winter.  You are going to claim to be hurt when you leave but I am going to stay here bleeding.

I will let it be and let you go.
Till whenever.  Goodbye.
I am angry, sad but whatever.
I hate that you know how I feel.

Living has become this constant nightmare. I wake up feeling like hell. I feel suffocated and embarrassed. I carry on living two lives, one for the public and one just for me. Depression is the hell that eats me up. I put a phasade of a perfect girl who has everything put together.  

I hide and put up a wall that is so high that you will never see my pain or my thoughts.

Holidays always hurt, I know. The
bandages on your wounds always seem to fall away this time of year. Let the wounds air, it’ll do those you love good to see how they’ve changed. How you’ve changed.

You’ve been so brave and
stitched up all your old wounds, be proud.
It’s time to go back to everything you loved, it’s time to pick up all those hobbies you regret stopping.

You’re growing; I can see it. I can see
you’re okay with not being okay and it’s
beautiful.

I have to keep reminding myself
My worst days in recovery are better than my best days in relapse
Because perhaps
When the voices in my head
Won’t let me go to bed
I still make the choice to wake up in the morning...

My heart is an open museum where people walk in and out for free. Exploring until they can’t find find what they intended for, so they walk away. And I stay with myself

There’s lightening in my heart.
It beats like thunder.
My chest echoes like a cave.
My ribs crack and my bones shake.
My veins like rapids.
There’s no room for air in my lungs,
And I gasp.
Anxious with open eyes

I have died a million deaths
Became a haven of more graves than I dared to live
Became a widow of my own soul
Covered myself with the cloak of death mourning the glory of loss upon us
Dressed myself in more insults with a dash of curses than your devotion
As I dangled from the roof of your mercy petitioning for your worthy heart
Became an ambassador of your threats to disappear than your affection
But again and again I return to you
In hope that one day
you might believe that I am not what you are used to

The ironic thing about pain is how beautiful a poet can make their sadness seem

Dear Monday
I come to you
Burned and bruised with sins of yesteryear
Covered with the blood of disloyalty
My speech cluttered with tones seeking salvations
Battered with tales of remorse
Seeking pardon to all I've erred
I come to you
Bare
Without riches
Heart yearning for change
and I ask that you lead me closer to redemption

Darling.
tell me,
how many times
have you lost yourself
while trying to make a home
out of someone else?

I'm drowning, I'm done fighting a battle which will never end. I'm at war with my mind, yeah, I'm smiling but I'm drowning. I am still alive but I'm bleeding and I'm numb...I deserve the rain not the sun.

Don’t you dare, for one minute,
believe that my kindness makes me
anything but insurmountable.
I did not unzip my chest to every kind of hurt,
and stagger back, wounded and alive,
just to hear you call me weak for trying.
I opened my door to Heartache–
I gave her the ******* key.
My softness for wayward strangers
has made me nothing less
than a halfway house for aching soles.
So when you open your mouth
and call me ‘baby’
understand that I am not your next victim
in a laundry list of broken girls.
You think I don’t know you? People like you?
People with mouths for hands.
I’ve got skin like topsoil
and your teeth could never take root.
So when you go looking to make a plaything
of a sunburst,
you better look for someone with less fire
than me.
Because softness or no,
I will eat you alive
before I let you make a meal of me.

“I claw and scrape across my veins
in an attempt to find a release,
but no matter how hard I try,
the substance that seeps out
is not you.”

...Because paper has more patience than people.

“I hope there are days when you fall in love with being alive.”

I feel like ****.

One day my hands will settle inside themselves.
I feel most free in the dark where there are dozens of bodies
and no one knows me. I’m trying to text this boy
but my nails are wet with paint. When scientists tell me
there is the possibility of another universe I think yes
and I am better in it. I want fresh flowers on every table
and for tomorrow to be a gentler crime scene. My twenties
are teaching me that no one is ever as busy as they say they are.
Like, honestly, where you going with all that debt, honey?
I don’t know how to describe my kind of loneliness.
Maybe open wound, maybe stepping into a dress
with a broken zipper. I wish my lips weren’t dry for attention
I wish I was tough and hard like men. I know exactly
what you mean when you say you can’t wait to get out of here
but you're here now because money because god or fate
or whatever. Sometimes I just want to say what I actually
******* mean. For someone who thinks she knows it all
I say I don’t know a lot to save my own ***. Am I crying
on this bus right now or is that just the sun. I go
an even darker shade of brown. I go and hide the body
which is really just my body. My friends say self-sabotage
and I say honest. During the quietest hour, it rains.
My heart is full. J pulls up in his car. I am lucky
and the night is behind us, laughing.
— Girl, Why Your Heart Leaking Like That?

I'm really sick of being me, i'm sick of trying my hardest and never ever being good enough. I'm tired, mentally dead.

“I spoke about everything,
My heart did,
My voice, the bearer of my symphony,
The continuous hum of purity,
My heart said,
The words that I spoke,
And in my misery, I spoke about everything,
From the darkness in the corners,
Those shadows that pricked at my neck,
The trees that were too tall,
Or too short,
And the rain,
Too heavy or tickling my skin,
Or if it was the sunshine,
Too bright, or never enough,
I spoke of the ones I loved,
Too much, or too little,
I spoke of the ones I loved,
Too many, or too few.
I spoke, to the one I loved,
I spoke,
Too much, too little

“I am totally nocturnal. That comes from waiting for your parents to go to bed, then doing what you want. I’m secretive — I still behave like that.”

“Introverts, man. We’re weird sometimes. Like, “I love you, but I need to go over here by myself right now.”

Put the pin back in the grenade, it’s time To stop walking on broken glass just so you can destroy yourself faster, leave the lighter on the nightstand, it’s time to change

you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him traveling away from you in his dreams
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.
”
— For Women Who Are Difficult to Love

Its time to leave your sword in it’s sheath and walk to the battlefield to make peace, because this war you are raging against isn’t hurting them half as much as it’s hurting you

There are downsides to living in a small time,
And I’ve seen every single one of them
Because there are only so many roads you can go down
And so many store corners you can duck into to avoid seeing that one person
There are only so many ways to get home
And only so many houses
And when you’ve been in the same place since you were born, there are only so many ghosts you can outrun
And these days
I’m getting really tired

“Loneliness is black coffee and late-night television; solitude is herb tea and soft music. Solitude, quality solitude, is an assertion of self-worth, because only in the stillness can we hear the truth of our own unique voices

“Two months in and all you know
is your new medication
makes your hands shake.
Twenty-four years old,
and you’re finally starting to understand
that calling a place home
doesn’t make it feel like one.
Yesterday, you learned how to change a tire, but
you still don’t know
how to love someone without
cracking your ribs open
and spilling through the fault lines,
like some kind of natural disaster.
You’re pretending if you keep laughing
you won’t have to admit
you’re afraid;
pretending like love’s gonna
solve all your problems;
pretending you’ve got it all together
when you don’t have it at all.
You have made so much
out of so little–
you built yourself tall
on the backs of every person
who told you you couldn’t.
You flew your colors in a war zone–
made it back wounded and alive.
You have done everything you know how,
and it means something
to have tried.”
— Twenty-Four

They can make the chemicals for love in a lab. I know. I’m sick of hearing how unspecial it is that I exist alive with passion.
Listen. The world around me is howling and the moon is sick with our worries. We are all in a flood that wants us to sink without screaming. There is nothing in my pocket but debt and shadows and the teeth that have been knocked out of me. There is nothing in my future but cubicles and temp agencies.
Let us have love. This generation is dying. We are sweating out the innocence we were supposed to grow up in. We are all stumbling around with our hearts pounding in desperate fire alarms. We are all smothered. Let us have love.
Let us love each other wildly with our pictures of girls laughing in the passenger seat. Let us hold onto the images of our friends on the beach with sandy knees, of bonfires, of blurry drunken singing, of stopping for shakes and slurping them over bridges, of a shy look over one shoulder, of the sun setting, of selfies that show: I’m alive right now. I’m happy. Let us keep that. Let us keep proof that we are happy.
Love can be made in a lab. “Let that sink in,” he tells me. I say, “I knew that already.” So can basically anything. I want to stop questioning myself. I want to love so wide it breaks your measuring systems. I want to love her until she shakes, I want to touch him until it breaks me. I want to stop the cynics in their tracks. Everything is already so sad.
Can’t you see? Science doesn’t make this boring. Science makes this amazing. Everything that’s dancing in my head when I think of the people I love - it’s so real that they can read it in chemistry. It’s not just fantasy. It means I feel it to the very cells of me.
Let us have love. Let us have our dopamine, our seratonin, our oxytocin. We are surrounded by poison. Give us our delicate balance. Give us something we can believe.
”
— Love is scientifically explainable. That doesn’t mean it’s not amazing

Happiness is just a phase.

I am sinking deep. Someone rescue me.

Hoping for a miracle yet fearing for the worst.

“What they don’t tell you
about the gentle ones,
is how we keep all our hurts in cages,
and line them up like circus attractions
on the inside of our own chests.
We carry the weight of them,
and call it surviving.
.
What they don’t tell you
about the ones who grew up
walking tightropes,
is that we only look so graceful
because we never learned
how to climb down
and we call this
remarkable.
.
What they don’t tell you
about the illusion
is that I am as much lion
as I am lion tamer.
And I got good at inflicting pain
the same way I got good
at soothing it.
This, we call unfortunate,
but inevitable
and sure.
.
What they don’t tell you
about the gentle ones
is how raw we all are,
just below the surface:
how the roar of the crowd
feels like a city burning;
how we love like immolation;
how we leave nothing but dust
in our wake.
.
We call this
poetic justice.
What they didn’t tell you
about us
is that we’ve learned so well
that we only have to be cruel
once.”
— The Gentle Ones

I'm done trying, I'm dead. I'm dying and nobody's crying. Feelings are gone, no connection of reality. It's just me stuck on the dark side of the earth.

I can hear it, can you?
The voice in my head that says; let’s just have one, maybe two
Try as I might, fight, fight, fight
I always give in to the craving
Straight down to the pub, I feel a little strange
I feel dazed, and confused, why am I here?
I feel guilt and I feel shame
It’s not going to happen again
I’ll never touch another drop, after this shot
Last hangover was death
I felt I would die
I felt anxious, I felt crazed
I felt like running away
Why did I drink until dawn the next day?
Now I remember the day I got drunk
It felt like a calling, a job to be done
you’ll drink until you’re happy, don’t answer back
and so I obeyed, until my whole world went black
And here I am again, preparing to drink
standing in line, waiting for service
anticipation, my heart races faster
I know it’s not good, but I just can’t help it
The thought of the sweet liquid, warming my heart
the laughter I’ll share, the fun I will have
then I hear the voice, urging me on
let’s just have one drink; it’s nice to feel nice
No! I hear you this time
It’s over, my friend
I see you this time
You are me, but I am not you
I grab my coat and head for the door

Applying a clown face and pretending everything is cool and content.

“I’m afraid to get used to the breath-taking glory of the midnight sky.
I’m afraid to lose my sense of wonder to mind-numbing routines.
How do I keep myself alive

“We cling to words like drowning men to straws. But still we drown, we drown

When will my best be good anyway?It's being afraid of being alone with your own thoughts inside your room but not wanting anyone with you, taking 5 showers a day but still not feeling clean. I could get a hundred hours of sleep and still feel tired as hell, searching for a real definition of self. It's that thanks for nothing look that people will tell you to pray & everything will be okay. Biting you're nails till they bleed. You wouldn't call me crazy if you knew how much I hate me.

I'm the girl who lost her smile. It's gone, gone forever. Blown away by the wind.

“If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad.”

“I found God in the cracks between the tiles
of my bathroom wall,
as I puked my guts and
my melancholy
into the toilet.
I lost God for the first time
in my first love’s eyes,
the way the unearthly brown flecks
of his eyes caught the fluorescent lights.
I lost God in the way
I swore to love him for the rest of my life,
and in the way the “I love you”s soon
turned into nothing but fragile syllables to break
the uncomfortable silence.
I found God in he hastily wrapped cigarette paper,
but He only lasted before
specks of withered ashes
could hit the ground.
I lost God in the bottom of
the pill bottle,
and at the threshold of the tub,
where my toes lingered to touch
the steaming hot water,
where I sat for hours on end,
staring at my reflection,
begging him to stop me…
begging him to be real.
I lost God in the midst of the
soft music,
my hands on a girl’s waist,
my eyes devouring her.
In my head she was God,
the most divine, exquisite immortal
(I made her immortal,
for I had put down on paper the way
her body moves beneath mine).
I think God was calling for me,
telling me to snap out of it.
But everything else
was too vivid for me
to hear.
I found Him in the blood
under my fingernails
after heated nights where
I was too frail to dial
my best friend’s phone number.
But I washed my hands,
and he was gone again.
I evaded God
in the bends of her body,
the bends of her smile,
the bend of her tranquil manner
when I told her
that I loved her.
I have lost and I have found God
in all the places I have been told
he would usually avoid.
The back of a car with a boy
whose lips were venomous,
the cramped bathroom
where I rashly thought
to end my life,
and in body of a girl
who still cannot love me back.
I think that even after all this time,
even after the vile, decadent side of me
still denies Him a space in my heart,
another part of me still hopes He’s real.
A part of me still hopes He’ll save me.”
— this is how I lost and found and lost god again

"My heart have wrinkles in it from stressing too much."

“I have lived my entire life
without breaking a single bone
and yet somehow none
of them could protect me
from splintering my soul–
somewhere along the way,
I became reckless and sharp,
shattered and dark,
somewhere along the way
I gave up on you and baby
I gave up on myself too.”

— The only angel I had fell through the clouds

“There are enough stars in your
eyes to form galaxies but
here you are crying over
the girls and boys and other
spiteful kids who broke
your heart–darling listen to
me, you mean more to this
world than they will ever
comprehend because you
are absolutely magnificent;
you’ve got moons in your
palms and the sun in your
smile, you control the gravity
around you, darling you
make the tides turn and you
are your own beautiful
world– just because
some people don’t understand
space, doesn’t mean you should
let them bury you in hatred.”
— Don’t let them take over your universe

“If you could feel the way my hands
shake when I write your name,
you would know how much you
mean to me and you would see
how much of my blood runs through
my veins for the sole purpose of
keeping you in existence because when
you are written across the pages
of my notebooks, it feels like you’re
still here, it feels like you could
never die– but my hands,
my shaking hands– they’re enough
evidence to show you’re no longer alive