Call me scarred
Call me hurt
Call me trapped
Say what needs to be heard
Hit me till I'm down
Scream in my face
Watch me fall
Say I'm a disgrace

I won't listen

Tell me I'm broken
Ruin my day
Break my legs
Lock me away
Say I'm disgusting
Call me the devil
Remind me of horrors
Throw me down
On so many levels

I wont listen

Say I'm a sinner
Some soul-****** monster
Hate me
Take me
Try to break me
Feed me lies
Show me enemies
Plan my demise

I won't listen

Steal my eyes
And all I love
Rob me of a home
Of confidence
Make bullets rain
From above
Burn my body
Call me a demon
Take all I know
Put me in pain
Say my ideas will plummet

I won't listen

Hurting I am
But that's just
The everyday life
Of a suffering little poet

i had a friend who was just like me
we convinced each other we weren't hungry
she taught me how to throw up
i taught her how to be loved
i was her one and only
stayed up all night just to keep her company
in the end, we could've made each other heal
and i clung to the idea that what we had was real
but nobody understood.
when they found out, there was screaming
yelling, and long lectures late into the night
they used her as a lesson
a way to show me i'm "not like that"
a way to convince me i'm "not that bad"
"not that sick"
"not that twisted"

last i heard, lisa is under the ground somewhere
though whether it was by drugs or a knife, i don't know
i wonder if she got a funeral
i wonder if anyone cried

I know that your sad
I know that your tired
of all the *******
that you have to deal with
and I know that its basic
but is this the only way?
to take yourself to a place,
where nobody comes back from?
hopefully you don't go
because I would like to meet you.
in life not after
because there might not be an after
maybe you have no reason to live
please allow me to give you one
Live for me
and I'll live for you

Wear the logo.
Sip the overpriced latte.
Smile like you belong.

But deep down—
you traded truth
for a tag.

Fake gold glows too,
until it rains.

Don’t plant your worth
in damp soil
just to grow rice
for someone else’s plate.

Luxury?
Maybe.
But only if illusion is your favorite fabric.

Real talk—
your worth isn’t worn,
it’s lived.

on sunday, i gave away my guitar
and i didn't expect it to be so hard
didn't expect it to crumble my heart
to know i will never feel those strings again
close my eyes and move my hands
never tune the thing until 2 AM
nathan, please take good care of it
because i love that guitar, but i'm scared to admit
scared that you'll ask again why i quit
scared that you won't keep your promise