Every morning she lines her eyes
To cover up the night's she's cried
Feeling so empty inside
Trying to hide all of the lies
She's buried herself behind a wall of humor and fake smiles
Hoping people will actually want to stay a while
Maybe tonight will be the night
That her nightmares wont give her a fright
But she knows better than to hope
She knows it only ends with rope
She tumbled down such a slippery *****
Never knowing how to cope
She's ready, already wrote her note
Hoping it's easier to bleed than choke
She pulls the blade across her overlapping scars
Laughing as it rips her apart
Becoming all too familiar with her eyelids
Finally getting relief from her sins

should i ? or should i not?
that's a hard choice
if i do , i'll leave my family behind
the person who gave birth to me
who offered me life
if i don't , i'll just be waiting,
in this miserable life
for my miserable beating heart to stop.

Some days I lose inspiration
To write the words I feel
But when I put it into words
The feelings seem so much more real

I write my words of sadness
Scribbled on a page
In between spaces are
My heartbreak and my rage

The feelings I can't tell them
Or the things I just can't show
But behind my eyes I'm hurting
More than you'll ever know

My mothers beginning to worry
I don't eat enough
I'm glad to know she cares
But it isn't love

My fathers asking me if i'm alright
And I tell him a lie
I'm just as close to him
As any other guy

My friends don't ask
They don't see the signs
They don't look for sadness
Or my scarring lines

So I keep my fake smile
To keep them all away
Because even if I told them
They'd all leave anyway

I want you to tell me I'm pretty
Tell me that my eyes are like stars
That my hair is gorgeous and soft
and that it frames my face in just
the right way
Tell me that I have a cute little
button nose and my glasses sit
perfectly on it
Tell me that the freckles that are
scattered over my skin are adorable
That my skin is like porcelain,
smooth and pale
That it doesn't matter if there are
imperfections
Tell me that even though I may
have them, tell me that they make
me even more real and beautiful
Tell me that my hands would fit
perfectly in yours
I want you to tell me all these things
But you never are able to
Instead you tell me
That my eyes are dull
and boring
That my hair would look better
blonde and longer
You tell me that my nose is too wide,
and my glasses make my eyes look
too small
You tell me my freckles would look
better gone
That my skin is so pale it makes me
look dead
And that I should go get a tan if
I want to even think about being
pretty
You tell me that my scars and
my blemishes need to be covered
That no one wants to look at that
You tell me that my hands are too
chubby, along with the rest of me
and my fingers are too short
I just want you to tell me I'm pretty
But I keep telling myself that I'm
anything but that