When I look into the mirror, I expect to see a girl staring back at me who I know is nothing but me.

But when I look into the mirror and see myself all I see are labels.
A whirlwind of insults that takes the place of my reflection, and throws its words at me whenever it sees me.
I know what I should do when I see it.
I know I should just rip them off and show the it I am above the petty labels that it chooses to define me as...

But...

I don’t

I look into the mirror and sink to the ground; balling like a child because I know the labels are true.
I know that everything it tells me is true.
I know because...

That thing is me.

People say things about me when they think I’m not listening.
Friends make a joke without realizing they’ve crossed a line.
I look at myself and know this is how everyone sees.

I don’t embrace these labels.
I don’t let myself stand beside them and act proud and confident.
I sit in the storm and watch as it grows larger and larger with every second a conversation continues.

I’m a coward.
I don’t let people know I hate this.
Don’t let them know I despise the labels everyone sees I have.
I want to tell them I want to change.
I don’t want these words anymore.
I’ve been in pain for far too long, and I don’t won’t to complete another dictionary because I’m too afraid to speak up.
But I never do.
I continue to look at myself in the mirror.
Continue to be a person I don’t want to be.

I want to break everything.

There’s so many ways for something to get broken.

If I throw it,

It’ll break.

If I drop it,

It’ll break.

If I squeeze it,

It’ll break.

If I kick it,

It’ll break.

If I stab it,

It’ll break.

If I slam it,

It’ll break.

If I crack it,

It’ll break.

If I bend it,

It’ll break.

If I smash it,

It’ll break.

But it doesn’t matter if I break it.

Broken things can just be replaced by

A newer model.

Am I narcissistic for putting myself before

Others?

Am I a sociopath for not caring about

Others feelings?

Am I depressed for always feeling empty

Inside?

Am I antisocial for not having many

Friends?

Am I shy because I can’t talk to strangers?

Am I pretty because I hide behind

Makeup?

Am I provactive for my natural body size?

Am I rude because I’m sarcastic?

What am I...

                            To others?

Let’s say, metaphorically speaking, there’s a tree.
A small but strong pine tree.
This tree is in a forest with many other trees, and in this forest nothing happens.
There are no other trees besides pine.
No birch.
No redwood.
No beech.
Just pine.
But, what if that one pine tree...didn’t want to be a pine tree?
What if that pine tree wanted to be a cedar tree, or the most beautiful cherry blossom in the orchard?
But no matter how hard it tried it was always just a pine tree.
Surrounded by other pine trees in a forest where nothing happened.
Metaphorically speaking.

Sometimes, it feels like I’m in a driverless car.
In the passenger seat with no control over what happens to me.
I ride in the car, watching life go by.
There were so many things I could’ve done differently.
Maybe if I had said this, or maybe if I had done that.
But I’m only a passenger in a driverless car.
I can’t stop it. I just watch life go on knowing there will be another mistake.
I watch as people who I remember loving and appreciating are left behind as the car drives on.
I want it to stop.
I want to drive myself.
I don’t want the car deciding where I should go, or who I drive past.
I want to do what I want, but I can’t.
I can’t let myself take the wheel.
‘It knows what’s best.’ I tell myself, and then I look out the window again.
Watching life go by.

Are you serious?!
Are you ******* serious?!
I can’t believe you’ve gone so far with this.
I can’t stand you!
Do you need attention that much that you would accuse a poor boy of ****?!
Well, you’re getting the attention now, and I’m not sorry to say most of your friends don’t believe you.
But,
You’re sick.
You just to love that boy and now you only refer to him as “the abuser”.
I’ve had enough of this.
How can you not see that you’re ruining his life? All because you got scared your parents might find out you were going to try something.
You even went and accused him of wanting to ****** your parents!
What the **** is wrong with you?!
How can you, or any of the ******* people who believe you, not think anything is wrong with this?
And then you come on to this website and write poems about him; the mood constantly changing from “I hate you,” to “I miss you,” to “I want to beat you to a ****** pulp.”
Get a ******* hold of yourself and see that you’re in denial and because of that he could have no future.