I often wonder
How people would react
If they could hear
The thoughts that trickle through
My mind
How often I tell myself
It's my fault
Everything is my fault
You're not pretty enough
Not smart enough
Not talented enough
Not nice enough
Not skinny enough
But I cannot speak
These thoughts
So instead
I could write a novel
Entitle it
Nicotine and broken dreams
And fill it with all my thoughts
It'd be written in blood
And stained with tears
Pages upon pages
Filled with hatred
And self loathing
It will be considered
Tragic and poetic
When in reality
I'm just pathetic
I mean nothing
Not a single thing
I'm unimportant
Worthless
Pointless
Good for nothing
A monster
A monster who gives her love
To everyone else
And saves none
For herself
A monster who leaves
Herself empty
And the empty spaces
Are filled with negative thoughts
That I must write down
To release

I march along the pavement
Feeling incredibly lonely
Although I am not alone
I have my demons with me
Depression draped like a scarf
Resting over my eyes
I cannot see
Through it's myriad of lies
Anxiety whispering
Softly In my ear
You're not good enough
You don't belong here
My BDD stops me
At every mirror I pass by
I have to meet the standards
Of my demons perfectionist eye
I walk along shrouded
In my invisible darkness
You look at me and see a normal girl
You'd never guess I carry all this

I want to go back
To being an eagle on the swing daddy built for me
I want to go back
To watching ****** doo every day
I want to go back
To momma packing my lunch
I want to go back
To math being 2+2
I want to go back
To asking Santa for presents
I want to go back
To when 18 seemed aeons away.
I want to go back there
And far far away from this new reality here

I'm scared. Yeah I'll admit it. I'm ******* scared. I got my first job today. And in doing that I realized why I waited so long to get one. Because it ******* terrifies me. Inside I tricked myself into thinking that I was still ten years old, without a care in the world. But now I'm working. Clocking in and out. Making money to live. And it's scary as hell. To be ripped out of your comfort zone and spoon fed a dose of reality. I'm 17. But I'd give anything to be 16 again. Just rewind me back a year or a few. Im 17. I'm not supposed to feel like this. I'm supposed to be excited. At least that's what I've been told. But instead I'm sitting alone in my room crying over growing up. And I'm scared of that.

Help.
I'm.
Feeling.

I can feel the frustration
Bubbling over
Like a shaken up soda
Got my four leaf clover
Lucky I didn't
Explode this time
I was close
To commuting that crime
Explosion of emotion
Bomb is set free
All my anger towards you
Flying out of me
I'll pay for my sins
But so will you
If that prophecy
Is even true
Be careful not to
Set me off
Cause stopping a bomb
Is proven quite tough

C