1
Learn to love the color pink, because as soon as you are born you are smothered by all things cute and dainty, and yes of course they are pink, so learn to love the color pink, pink being the balloons that say things like “ Congrats it’s a Girl” as if  they would be proud to have such a thing. Pink as the muscles beneath our skin, pink as the human brain, but god forbid we think, pink as in meat, pink as in weak, pink as in baby blankets that are raised just a little too far over your head, pink as in let’s try again, pink as in you are weak, pink as in no, pink as in you can’t do that, pink as in me, pink as  an identity I will forever be forced to be in love with.
2
Always hold daddy’s hand, because they’re are bad men around every corner
3
Cross your legs and learn to sit still. You can’t play with toy cars your a little girl hot wheels are for the brave at heart you need a Malibu girl, something smooth and rounded, something you can’t ***** yourself on. Something that is perfect for the pink one.
4
Learn to herd to the bathroom. Never forget the buddy system because you don’t want to end up missing like the girl across the street
5
Learn early on that you should steal your mother’s makeup, no matter what she says, because with out it we look “tired”
6
Don’t be scared of blood, be scared of men.
7
Play with your hair, pull down your shirt, be exotic, and beautiful. Everyone loves a playful girl.
8
Don’t go back home till you have a good husband and a baby that didn’t turn out pink like you. A baby with an actual chance for greatness in this world.
9
SHUT UP WOMAN
10
Say no

I want to be special, I want to be able to look and say “*******, you’re beautiful” but I can’t do that, because every time I look in the mirror I see that, I see this, I see the little girl that I used to be and I want to grab her and I want to hold her, and I want to place her head against my chest to hear my heart beat, to hear our heart beat,    let her know that she still has a heart to beat to in the future. And as our deflated lungs inhale and exhale, she will drift through the mirror, but she will remember me, and she will know that her hands and feet have a purpose, that she has a purpose we have a purpose, and she will know that she doesn’t have to be the icing on top of the cake,   or an angle. And she will know that she is beautiful, and that she doesn’t have to prove it to anyone.

I’ve always been inside a hollow cage, trapped between thick bones of rage. If only an ounce of persistence existed within my lawless resistance, maybe then I could be free, not wrapped in the arms of the enemy. More like sheltered in a quilt of fluff or anything worth more than this bluff.
But there’s nothing I can do here
No uno card to draw that’ll dry this tear, there’s only empty spots and overly busy thoughts, till I can see my will, and figure out how not to ****.  The real aspect of my rage is not the one who locked me in this cage, but the one who locked itself in my mind, clouding my judgement and making me go blind.

You sit behind you bare skin limbs, asking for me. Saying, “ Please, oh please I need your body,”
I bet you were proud of asking for me probably weren’t the slightest bit ashamed. But you see I’m smarter than most, I don’t play into your bat of an eye, finger twirling, butterfly game. I see you for what I see, pixels with stupid syntax, and a flirty set of 1s and 0’s.
To me you are nothing more than an Instagram post, and let me tell you Mr. Scorpion4735, you do seem like a venomous *****.

What a mystery
Of how one can find themselves stepping in mud without ever knowing the mud was on their boots.
Only knowing after they step in the house and mother yells at them for the trail that they've left behind.
She yells for the cookie crumbs on your thighs, and for those nights you come home half alive.
She loves you so much, so she must keep scrubbing the floor with her blouse to rid it of your existence. She lathers her hands and places them on each point of  your resistance.
She will crochet herself to your heart, no matter how hard you're falling apart.
She will yell and scream and throw things at your head, all the while you're wishing you were dead.
So you go to sleep with self distractive lullabies, only to tune out your own lies. YOUR LIFE IS FINE. DONT YOU DARE LIE.

Most nights You find your self making playlists for sleep just to hear someone's voice that's not your own that's broken and weak.
Their words fill your bones making you feel less alone.
But there you go again, getting jealous of the happy breaking rules, breaking your own skin, now the music can no longer spin.
Later you hear someone say water cleanses the soul so you dunk yourself in it till your oxygen deprived bones starts stall.
You'll wake up tomorrow felling no sheet around with your numb fingertips. You'll be trapped by the weights of your failures.
You failed.
Your eyes will be red and puffy from the drops of last nights last hope.
That was your last chance and you even ******* that up.

You'll sit at your desk like normal knowing the things that you have done.
You'll pinch yourself so hard that your fingers will bleed
but just **** on the blood so it'll go back to your bloodstream , that's what you need.

I might have iron in my blood, but I'll never be strong enough to get up, take my first step, and leave the dark hole that I was thrown in. I want to watch as the blood leaves my veins while the water seeps into my skin.
Im cleansing myself.
It doesn't seem to help.
Nothing ever helps.
Nothing ever will.
Goodbye world, this is the last chance for me. No more fighting an up hill battle. Only white flags and shark infested waters. Goodbye cruel, cruel world.
I hope I never see you again.
Sincerely- ms nothing.

I've seen things I've liked, but at the same time hated.

Looked up support groups online on how to stop, but was to young to join.

I've been to embarrassed to ask for help, because everyone I told said it was normal, that it's just life.

But to me this was a pistol that I was constantly waving around with out a safety button.

If it goes off let's hope it shoots me and not a first responder.

But that pistol will never do as much damage to me as what I did with my own hands.

Because every test I did on myself was an exploration of an unknown island never seen by man.

But now it's polluted by sewage run off from small businesses that I owned. Deforested groves of innocence, and shattered hopes and dreams.

How dare I pick the only daisy from myself and say to enjoy the show as I cut it up and stomp on it over and over. Each time taking a different petal.

Now I'm here picking up the pieces, but it keeps on insisting on temptation, keeps hinting that hands are made for grasping, telling me that hands are for broken hearts that need to become whole.

How stupid was I.
I believed every lie that screen fed me.
Every hint it dropped of things that were scripted that that they made look real.
That every person that was there was just being normal and happy, and if you explore what is underneath just like them you'll be happy.

But I'm not happy.

I'm ashamed.

This is not normal, this is not for our age.
This is not happiness.
This is not how to fix a broken heart.
This is not how I want to be remembered
This is not what I want my children to see.
This is not how I want to live.

Most of all,
This is never going to happen again.

If I have to gouge out my eyes and chop off my hands, or shatter battery operated glass, I will over and over and over again.

So that next time I look in the mirror and I brush a hair out of my face,
I won't see my fingers and think of disgust. Next time I see my hands I don't want to see lust.
Next time I see these fingers I don't want to think of past. I want to think of now.

Next time I see my fingers I will think of how to pluck a guitar sting. Next time I look at my hands I'll remember how to tie a shoelace. Next time I look at these fingers I want to see something that was once coved in moss and weeds, but now has come out of the dark to lead a clean and triumphant life.

Yes this world is full of temptation and hunger, but our hands our not the food we need. So please no more hands for me.

There’s a man at my door asking me what floor
I don’t know I don’t know anything anymore
He’s taking over me and today he says I’ll make you see
Should I tell Thanks that that’s exactly what I need, for someone to beat me to a pulp and take away all of my hope. Like I had any. Make my home feel more like a prison oh please help I cant even make a ******* decision.  

“Excuse me ma’am, are you ok?”

“No, I am not “okay” but  you’re going to leave me anyway, because there’s nothing you can do there’s nothing any of you can do to make me feel less blue. You want to make me pop pills but all that’ll do is hold my will out a little longer. Make my suffering just a little bit softer. Maybe it’ll even help me pass a few more tests, or teach people how to respect ******* for once in their life.
It’s not my fault I can’t talk to people or how my mind wonders places, like jumping off a steeple.
It’s not my fault you don’t understand.
It’s not my fault I can’t raise my hand
It’s not my fault that I’m so called bland to this country
It’s not my fault that I live in this country
It’s not my fault he died
It’s not my fault he lied to you
It’s not my fault it’s not my ******* fault, so don’t make it seem like it is.“

This is what I’m thinking and longing to say but instead I say

“ Yes, of course, thanks for asking”

Then we go our separate ways and I am just hoping that you come back to say “I love you”, or “it’s going to be ok”, or at least ask me again. But you don’t, because you have a life, you have people who love you, and you don’t need a stranger to ***** that up, I get it. Thanks for trying to help though, at least you cared for a minute. I’ll take that into consideration tonight when I’m planning to say goodbye.