I don't have the right to complain.
My voice shouldn't carry the sharpness that has become my personality.
My eyes shouldn't hold the harsh edges of a wasted youth.
My heart shouldn't be covered in ice, filled with the remnants of a fire long extinguished.
I shouldn't be this way.
I have a home; although it may be empty.
I have food; although it all tastes the same.
I have friends; although they don't know who I am behind this mask.
I shouldn't be this way.
But I am.

I alone, carry the scars of my past
Each slash defining vital moments
Vital clues
Vital times, that left me askew
Each faded mark
Marring the once blank canvas
That is my skin
I alone, carry the scars of my past
With each day they fade
Memoir's imprinted onto decaying skin
Emotions blanched by insecurities
With each day they fade
They fade away,
The associated moments drifting
I alone, carry the scars of my past
The girl who had inflicted these wounds,
No longer exists
The girl who had inflicted these wounds,
No longer exists
For she is me
And I am no longer her
I alone, carry the scars of my past
The girl I once was
Will not define the girl I will be
The girl I once was
Will not define the future
She is a ghost
She has left me with only a mere remnant of herself;
Scars

They called her depression
Not for the way her long hair trailed limply behind her
Or for the way her boney hands shook
They called her depression
Because her empty grey eyes followed you
Because her blue nails were chipped and brittle
Because every time she brushed her hair clumps would fall out
They called her depression
Because she wasn't a girl
She was her disease
She was a ghost
She was a skeleton
She wasn't human
They called her depression
Until
One day
She said she wanted to die
"Ah, we'll call her suicidal than"
They mindlessly bobbed their heads in confirmation
Suicidal
They liked that name
They called her suicidal
Because every time her sleeve fell up
Deep scars and gashes were visible
They called her suicidal
Because her grades fell
Her ambitions fell
Her emotions disappeared
They called her suicidal
And the day she was found
Two identical slashes on each arm
Nobody was surprised
They use to call her depression
But they don't call her anything now