I don’t want to be okay
And live my life another way
Not right now
Not today

I don’t want to get better
or get worse
But I keep complaining that it hurts
Where I am
I think I like the pain
I think I wanna stay

I’ll just be here sinking
Screaming
Running
Jumping
I remembered this better
Is it really any better?

You say you want me healed
But I think you like me this way
Or maybe you just want to run away
And leave my carcass in the rain
Hope I wash away
But I’ll just end up on the bay
floating

Like i’m stalking you
Following you
‘Cause you said you want me better
But I think I’d rather jump
it has more meaning than it sounds, interpret as you like
Fear hurts.
No matter how happy I am, there is always fear.

When it’s dark at night, there is fear.
Fear crawls underneath the blanket with your beating heart.

When you eat an ice cream cone, there is fear.
Fear slides onto your tongue, along with the sweet, frozen cream, and makes its way down your throat.

When you squeeze a pillow, fear will be there,
refusing to exit your mind.

Fear, why won’t you exit my mind?
It never leaves me..

But fear is what keeps you going everyday.

When you climb a great pine tree,
you feel glad, happy, strong, though never fearless
for fear’s there lurking in the needles right there with you.

When the sweetest pitbull licks your face with it’s oh so soft tongue,
you fear that it will leave you.
When your phone rings,
you fear of who it is.

Fear makes me fearless

When you play, you still fear.
You don’t even know what you fear but
fear is everywhere.
It doesn’t make sense.
Fear doesn’t make sense.

Fear is fear.

When fear comes along
Fear is your best friend
Fear makes me dance.

When you love something,
you fear that it will go away.

You fear of yourself.
You fear of the world.

Fear comes to make life harder,
to make you sad,
to make you scared,
but your heart is full of joy so you just sit at the kitchen table,
eating donuts with a side of fear.

You may love fear, you drink it like it’s coffee,
but you hate fear even more.
I wrote this in a poetry class in 6th grade (hence why its so bad) before I realized I had loads of anxiety
I paint my face with tears
because I don't want to wipe them away.
I don't want to vanish my pain
and save it for another day.
I don't want to be known as my pain
but I am my pain.

My pain is the glossy finish
that my tears leave on my face.
My pain is what covers me.
My pain is what you see right through
'cause its clearer than cellophane

What if I don't like the sticky feel my tears leave behind?
What if I don't like the shame my pain brings along?

My pain is the scream into both ears that keeps me up at night.
Its the rush in my arms that makes me stab myself when dark.

Maybe if it wasn't dark you would see the red my eyes show;
crying out to you,
wishing you'll know about the pain that took me.

But when the light shines bright I spread my pain clear
like the armor to protect me,
or more likely it's my shield to hide behind.

But sometimes I shut my eyes
and they forget to reopen
and I just lie there
because maybe I don't want them to.
legit just a shit post bc i was venting
What happens when the good girl goes bad
like the spoiled milk she left out?
Because I couldn't seem to get up.
I think it was something about acknowledging that I'm alive, I'm here.
Wouldn't it all be easier if I wasn't?

When the good girl goes bad
because she worked her ass off on that paper and only got a C.

When the good girl goes bad
because the world doesn't treat her right,
but I guess it must because that's
how come I'm the good girl.
Not my depressed sister sitting in her room;
not my other sister running around, destroying everything I had to work for;
most definitely
not my other sister who always seemed to be your favorite but is now smashing plates in our backyard,
'cause I guess that's what happens if you get too close to you.

When the good girl goes bad,
you get angry because
I'm supposed to be your perfect child
not supposed to be
your screw up child
your lonely child
your lazy child
your anxious child
not supposed to be
your good for nothing child
your dysfunctional child
your doesn't give a fuck about anything anymore child.
why don't I fucking give a fuck about anything anymore?

When the good girl goes bad
your life falls apart,
because clearly
you had enough to deal with already,
because clearly
this is all my fault,
because clearly
you don't have the time to face your good girl
and
because clearly
that's all on me.

When the good girl goes bad
because you left her out on the counter all those years, sitting there to rot.
And though I know that you can't waste your time putting it away, 'cause you never cared for it anyway,
maybe you shouldn't have bought the milk if you didn't want to drink it.
And I know the milk should take care of itself
but I tried and that only works for a couple of years
before the good girl gone bad falls far off the counter, spills across the floor,
and the only thing left is to throw that nasty old milk away
because your bread, eggs, oil, etc. need your attention
and it's just too late for the good girl.

When the good girl goes bad
because she never asked to be the good girl
or maybe I did, I don't really remember,
but not like this.
I just wanted to be loved
but little did I know that
the good girl just sits there
keeping herself afloat,
but the boat can't guide itself if it wasn't given eyes.
The boat can't patch itself if you keep telling it its still brand new
when its really old, broken, and covered in holes.
You shouldn't put a boat in the water if you know its going to sink,
but I guess you only really need a couple good boats
so you can just toss the good girl.

When mama's little good girl goes bad,
she feels guilty
because she was told she'd always be
the good girl.
Though, its hard being the good girl when you don't have any windshield wipers for your tears at night.
But the tears at night aren't supposed to exist
because
I'm still mama's mother fuckin' good girl,
just...
please pretend I haven't gone bad.
I added to what was originally posted. I was having some technical issues and decided to just post what I had before, but this is the full poem (5/16/18)
When you say that life is easy,
a little frustration is as bad as it gets,
I ask you what you were doing at age six.

were you running through the park?
playing with your friends?
doing nothing much?
careless of the world?

What if your whole life is determined at age six?

When I say that life is hard,
it's never been a good thing,
you ask me what I was doing at age six.

I was running through the fields, hoping I'd forget.
I talked to almost no one,
doing nothing much.
I cared too much about the smallest things and just hoped that it would stop.

Six was the age I accepted that I would never be happy.
I knew I was different but I thought it would fade,
that maybe I'd forget and be able to stay.

But my whole life was determined at age six.
2 a.m. and I don't  understand
can I help you go to sleep?
can I show you how to dream?
your body's full of thoughts but I'll fill your thoughts with me

just tell me something like you've known me forever
because I've never been good at the getting to know you part

tell me something that'll make me remember
because I just can't seem to forget

tell me something that'll make you feel better
because I've never been good at showing I'm there

tell me something like you know it all
because I really believe that you do

talk to me like you waited all day
touch me like you care
hug me like you need some relief
I'll hold you 'til you're calm

you can run through the field 'til your legs fall off
and I'll be your scream into a pillow

you can be the lost kid, hidden in the darkness
and I'll be the darkness that took you

fix me like I'm the drink to soothe you
that way you'll take me in

see I'm pretty broken
and yeah I broke you too
but if we can glue our halves together
the light might just show through

now, sleep
please
show me the way to dream
out of everyone
it could've been anyone
but i was chosen for this task that no one wants.
as i walk to the door
i wonder why
as i turn the knob
i wonder why
as the dreaded creak means my entrance is now
i wonder
why.

dragged in here
i float
as i hear people scream
defending their side
i just can't decide
but maybe they aren't screaming
i think that might be me
because of the pain it brings
when they pull me in their opposite directions..
until i fall apart
but i was never really together.

raw in pieces
they keep giving me evidence
to prove that they are right
right about me

i guess i'm the guest
that doesn't want to be here
but they sure feel like unwanted guests
inside my head.

"she's a girl"
"he's a boy"
"because of this"
"because of that"
this can't be true
that can't be true

i'm just an observer
in this court room
but then why am i in the center?

i'm was picked at random,
the chosen one
and i really wish i wasn't.
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