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.
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
and
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

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 I know that you can't waste your time putting it away 'cause you never cared for it anyway,
but maybe you shouldn't have bought the milk if you didn't want to drink it.
And I know that 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, and oil need more 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 tell it that its still brand new
when really its 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
baby the light might just show through

now, sleep my baby
no, be my baby
I'll show you 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.
stop this thinking
in my head
the noise is loud
cause its quieter than ever
so isolated
i need to burn
but it's already up in flames
today i am sick
but its not the kind you think
its all in my head

its not that its fake
but that my head is so sick
its worse than the flu
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