You think that I want to be here, alone in a room that I’ve spent 15 years in, collecting dust and rubbed off skin particles in the test tubes made of hair. I never even asked to be here but bam here I am laying down in a bed that I don’t own, shedding tears that I can’t control.
You always did seem to find someway to ditch me on the playground oh so long ago. Left me playing tether ball with the apparitions that you coaxed me into believing that were there.
You would tell me that if I played nice with them that I would always win. You said that these friends had butter fingers and would let the ball swing right through their body.
But no I always won because I had nothing to lose against, it was just me and a rope, me and the wind, me and my innocence and not knowing that everyone thought I was a loser because I never lost at tether ball.
Soon girls came up to me and wanted to be my friends, so me, trying to act like a normal person put aside my surprise and followed them closely not saying a word, because I didn’t want to scare them off. They sprayed me with their mothers perfumes and lathered me in root beer flavored lip gloss that tasted nothing like root beer. Gave me chocolate flavored ice cream and gifts for Christmas, but only if I smelled like them and never looked them in the eye. Only after I stopped wearing my glossy lips and tea party get up did they leave. Apparently matte chapped lips made me less of a girl, and less of a person to be be loved.
Then I found my acceptance through others fear. I learned to take my dolls dresses and rip them apart, and wave them in the air like banners of war with silicone bodies floating in sinks left as casualties, but there were no witnesses, I started to win everything again, but this time it was war, this time it was tanks and race cars, this time it was tag and hide and go seek.
Soon, boys came up to me, wanting to be my friend and I punched them and ran for the nearest base so I couldn’t be tagged. They covered me in mud and taught me how to play flag football. Trained me for the four square Olympics and allowed me to do and be who ever I wanted. That is until training bras and cooties began spreading. Once again I was alone. I started to hit, punching my Dad in the gut as soon as I walked in the house, karate kicking the air and fighting my stuffed animals. Me hitting and Fighting the air was not for fun, it was to make sure that they were real, that they were mine. I even had to punch myself a few times. Because every time I walked by a mirror I could swear that I saw a nothing looking back, something that was probably made to be something, but failed.
Thinking that with so much beauty in this world it could at least share some with me, I hoped that this world could paint me out of the peach pallet from the sunsets in the summer, the one with the deep sun glow. Sculpt my body out of the fossilized foot prints from the places my ancestors walked on.
String my hair from the clouds that line the sky, fill the windows of my soul with the plucked stars from your sky, and line my head with flowered crowns and the most precious metal known to man. But I eventually came to the realization that I was none of these things, so I became afraid of mirrors, people, and myself all at the same time. And believed That everything I did would be a tiny spark that leaped out of a roaring fire.

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.

He blames me for hIs pain and I can’t Love myself fOr that I’m sorry if i was the one who hurt you but I’m glad you’re moVing on Im happy for you Even thoUgh I’m STILL dying inside

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

Every morning I jump through the brush.
A thicket of knots and thorns that’s on top of my head.
Every day I pick rose petals from my garden, and I place them on each apple of my face.
Every night I take off my camouflage, and glow with a fluorescent blue light that keeps the neighbors up at night.

I am an apple on the branch of a tree that branches through canopies and canopies of leaves and leaves to find an inch of light, to get out of the darkness. An apple that blooms off the twists and turns of sticks over sticks that grow and meet through out the years, I am an apple.

I am a wonder of the world, I am a miracle that pops through the wilderness.
I am nature.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion
Have mercy on us and on the whole world”

Momma! Can you hear me? I can hear you singing through tears momma. Please don’t cry. It’s going to be ok momma. I’m not in the dark anymore. Here there’s only light, and plenty of room to run. Momma it’s amazing here!Everything is going to be ok. So please, please, please, momma, don’t cry, rest your head, let me sing to you.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion
Have mercy on us and on the whole world”

No one knows. No one knows the loss of my own body, the ripping and savagery that took my own flesh. The pain that blooded and caressed my thighs.

They did no wrong, they hadn’t even breathed never the less committed a single sin. My beautiful, beautiful baby. did I do you wrong? Did your creation create a target on your head. A punishment for my sin.

You didn’t deserve to be stripped of the earth, before you could even experience it. To be failed by the body that was supposed to love you the most.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion
Have mercy on us and on the whole world”

And I hold these red beads in my hands, thinking of that day when red was all I could see. Grasping this shield singing and praying for healing. Wondering who you could have been. Creating these ideas of who you would of looked like.

If you would of had my brown curly hair and his silly smile. If you would have his musical genius and my creative brain. Thinking just how beautifully beautiful you would’ve been.

Could you solve a math equation from the top of your head, would you sleep till noon like your father, or wake up early like me, would you continue the tradition and play tennis or would you create your own traditions, Would I walk you down the isle, or button up your tux? Oh my dear child you don’t even know what it would have been like to baptize you in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirt.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion
Have mercy on us and on the whole world”

Baby my sweet child,
Why did you leave before I could even say your name?
Why did you give into the white light and leave me with a scarlet pain?

Did you sacrifice yourself to spare me of what life I would have lived with you in it?

But I want you in my life. I dream of your ringing footsteps, of you crying out for me, of holding you to my breast and carrying for you with everything I have.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion
Have mercy on us and on the whole world”

Baby, I’m sorry I never got the chance to love you.
But you’re not a baby anymore now are you, you’re my little angel.
Sweet angel of mine, I’m sorry that I failed you. I’m sorry that I can’t internalize a reason for you death even though your death was internal for me.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you the life that you deserved.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion
Have mercy on us and on the whole world”

My beautiful baby I love you till this day.
You might be gone, but the idea of who you could have been lives on with me, forever.

I’m sorry our love died I’m sorry that my body wasn’t strong enough to hold you.
I was carrying so much, that it made me lose my everything that could of been you.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion
Have mercy on us and on the whole world”

I would have named you Mark or John, or Mary magdalin, I would have rocked you to sleep every night. Loved you with all of my heart, sing to you till your precious eyes closed, and I would be sure to let you know I loved you. I loved you while you were being formed, and I loved and I missed you while you were deformed.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion
Have mercy on us and on the whole world”

Baby, sweet child of mine, how could you have left when there is so much love left for you here with me. Why did you go home before I had the chance to make you a home of this world. Before I could even see your face before we could even given you a name.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion
Have mercy on us and on the whole world”

Precious little baby I know you’re at the gates of heaven, and I know you’re not mine, so all I ask from you is to send me a sign that you’re ok, that I can be ok without you.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion
Have mercy on us and on the whole world”

But I lay here barren and empty.
Scooped bare, and ripped apart internally.
I have nothing to give you but my love.
I will always love you. My sweet beautiful baby. And I will hold my hand to your previous home of my body and feel for your heartbeat, your sweet beautiful innocent heart beat and I will never forget you, the love of my life, the one I never knew.

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 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.

Soy el rey de mi vida, he perdido un amigo mío. Este era mi mundo, mi vida y mi amor.

Too many rainbows in the sky left behind by storms going by
Rainbows aren’t worth the pain they come from rain rainbow you’re not worth the pain
Oh I can’t
I won’t keep pretending that the color in my eyes was worth the disguise
I can’t
I won’t keep pretending that the color in my eyes was worth my time
Not worth my time
Too many rainbows in the sky

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.

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.