I love drawing.
I love the feel of drawing.
I love the feel of it on my skin.
I love the feel of it tearing my skin.
I love the feel of it coming back for seconds.
I love drawing.
I love that nice red colour.
I love that nice red colour coming out of my skin.
I don't love it when people find my drawings.

I wanted to be near him.
I wanted him to love me.
I wanted to always be there for him.
I wanted to impress him.
I wanted to always feel this way.
I wanted to be more than friends.
I wanted to be just like her.
I wanted to be skinny.
I wanted to be loved by him.
I've wanted that for so long, but
.
.
.
I don't think I want anything anymore.

Being normal.
Being weird.
Being perfect.
Being horrible.
Being amazing.
Being good.
Being bad.
Having good grades.
Having bad grades.
Having a personality.
Have a normal life.
Having a different life.

The main character
She's so lovable and nice
Nobody hates her
except for the villains
Those mean
little
villains.
Those villains that she destroys each episode
Those villains she made everyone hate
Those villains that nobody likes
Well, some people do.
The people that 'look into things'
Those **** people
They say she's abusing her power
That she's using people for her own wants
That she only cares about reputation
They're wrong.
They just don't understand her!
She had such a bad past.
Everyone hated her, but she proved people wrong!
Anything bad she's ever done is because of those people
Those people that hated her.
Those people that watched her suffer.
Her actions are always justified.
She's the main the character,
and everyone loves the main character.

So pretty
So cute
You make me feel emotions I didn't know existed
Or maybe I did know what it was
Maybe it's love
Maybe I'm just happy
Maybe it's something everyone feels
I never felt it before
It feels nice
And heartwarming
And addicting.
Come back, please.

"You're doing the right thing"
They once said to her.
Abandoned, is she.
She tried to listen to them,
She took their advice.
She took him in.
Prepared his meals, his clothes, his bed.
Never a thank you was heard.
She tried to teach him that she loves him.
She never convinced him.
"Monster"
"Criminal"
"Abuser"
Each time she heard those words,
her heart broke ever so slightly more.
She was deteriorating.
Her mind lost hope each second.
He never listened.
He never listened!
She wanted to teach him a lesson.
She wanted to show how much she could've done to him for months.
It was supposed to teach him a lesson.
He just hated her more.
Poor little girl.
Mind twisted and broken.
Eventually, though,
They finally were found together.
Two corpses, eyes opened.
Her heart began to flutter.

Crimson.
My favourite colour.
It has been since grade 3.
The colour of blood.
The colour of my shirt.
J̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶l̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶a̶r̶m̶s̶.̶
No.
Not anymore.
You stopped.
It's still my favourite colour.
He made me love another colour.
A colour I once hated.
A colour I looked down upon.
A colour that appears on my face.
Pink.

What do you want to think of?
Him?
Your best friend?
That one guy who never gave back your pencil?
Or do you want to think of yourself?
No, you say.
You let out a chuckle,
why would you want to think of yourself?
You're the most boring person you know.
Thinking of anyone else is easy.
Think of their jokes, their looks, or maybe how unlikeable they are.
They wouldn't even know if you thought it.
Be more positive, she said.
I'm getting bored of her ranting, he thought.
But did he really think that?
Or are you just making this up?
You wonder if other people feel like this.
No, no they wouldn't. They don't have a reason to!
They're so much better than you.
Do they know that?
What if they want to be like you?
What if they wanted to be like the person you hated the most?
Maybe everyone feels this way.
You're overreacting, you thought.
You know you're telling the truth.
You never lie to yourself.
Like the time you thought that you didn't need 3 meals.
Like that time you thought that they wouldn't care if you-
Just.
Nevermind.
You may think that this poem means something.
But it really doesn't.
I can say this with a cold voice, with no emotion.
This poem holds no emotion.
It's just a concept.

Tell me them
Please
I want to hear you say it
I don't care if you don't mean it
Lie to me
I can't stand this
This unspoken hell
The hell that was unleashed suddenly
Talk to me at least
Please


Stay

Life.
Love.
Money.
Curiosity.
Music.
Humanity.
Standards.
Needs.
­Help.
Time.
No.
Deserts.
Depression.
Anxiety.
Self esteem.

Should I feel happy?
Should I feel grateful?
Should I know what's best?
Should I try my best?
Should I love myself?
Should I be myself?
Should I want to know other people?
Should I do what I want?
Should I stand out?

I wrote it with the help of others
They helped for the better and for worse
Some didn't even know how they influenced it
Others don't know that the story even exists
Barely anyone knows it exists
The world's so huge
So many people
My story won't be heard by all of them
My story will be forgotten
But maybe that's alright
If someone can remember my story for just a little bit longer
I'll be happy

You failed.
They didn't believe you.
Your excuse was horrible.
Your existence was horrible.
He found out.
They found out.
And it was all because of him.
He couldn't keep his **** mouth shut.
Now they know.
Now they know how much of a freak you are.
Their sympathy means nothing.
He just wanted attention.
They don't care.

But you do.

I saw that look on your face
I know you're worried
I know you feel bad for me
I don't want that
I don't want you to worry
I didn't want you to know
I never wanted you to know
I don't even do it anymore
You believed my excuse
You worry about what you say to me
I can hear it in your voice
I can see the nervous look in your eyes
I'm glad you pay attention to me
But you're doing it for the wrong reason
I want you to care
But not like this
I want you to be there
But not like this
I want you to love me
But you can't.

We're so lucky to be where we are.
We're so lucky to be alive.
We're so lucky to be human.
We're so lucky to have feelings.
We're so lucky to want.
We're so lucky to have empathy.
We're so lucky.
It just doesn't feel like it.

I keep hoping it withers
I keep hoping it'll leave me alone
The feeling never left me
It only grew stronger
Over time, I couldn't imagine a life without it
It makes me whole
I know this has to go away
I can't live with this forever
I don't want to live like this forever
But love is too strong
And it'll never wither away.

When I write,
I can see how crazy this all is.
When I vent,
I can hear how stupid I sound.
When I cry,
I can't think of anything.
When I hated you,
I hated myself.
When they helped me,
I thought I didn't need it.
When I want to,
I'll realize how much this hurt me.

We breathe.
We live.
We hate it.
We love it.
We want it.
We don't want it.
It ruined us.
It helped us.
It ruined itself.
It helped itself.

What should I write
Something happy?
Something sad?
Something emotionless?
An opinion?
A story?
A battle?
An explanation?
A letter?
A note?
A clue?
An article?
A poem?
Something super ******* repetitive?
Who knows.

Are you there?
Do you love yourself?
Do you care about yourself?
Do you want to be yourself?
Should you love others?
Can you love others?
Can you love yourself?
Are you questioning this?
Are you everything you want to be?
Are you amazing?

I can't think of anything else than that.
Such a simple, basic, topic.
Writer's block isn't fun,
but this isn't writer's block.
I should write this down.
Write it all down,
drown others with your words.
Write everything
how you feel
what you want to do
what you wished you had done
That's what this is.
It's not writer's block.
It's something different.
It's just
my mind

200 words.
What a milestone.
There are people with thousands of words published.
On this site.
On other sites.
In books.
Those books that were never recognized.
Those poor authors never got recognition for their works.
They worked so hard.
They tried so hard.
All for nothing.
Did they ever try again?
Why would they?
It could just end up the same way.
No one will care.
They'll regret their choices.
They'll wish for something better.
Their wish won't be answered.
At least, I think so.
Maybe it went a different route.
Maybe they did try again.
Maybe they succeeded.
Maybe-
Maybe they didn't.
Nothing will be enough.
No one will recognize your work.
Don't even try it.
Pathetic.

These poems may be short
They may be boring
They may be repetitive
They may be boring
They may be infrequent
They may be made too often
They may be telling a story
They may be showing growth
They may be a way to vent
They may be stupid
They may be annoying
They may be everywhere you look
They may be what you hate most
They may be interesting
They may be positive
They may be sad
They may be something you can relate to
They're very similar