I have decided to return
To this lovely site
For my depression is keeping
Me awake at night
It it drowning me with fright
So I have decided poetry will help
Me come up for a breath
I have missed this site dearly
Here young teens are taken seriously
Unlike in reality when we are mistakened for jokes
My depression makes me choke
Scared of my own image
But I have yet
Returned

I sometimes
No I always
Wonder if people
Would care about me more
If I was just another dead girl
It's least likely for nobody cares anyway
So they could say go **** yourself and not care if you do

I sometimes
No I always
Wonder if people
Would see me for who I was
No just another nobody or a wannabe
They wouldn't see me for the intelligent and pretty and kind girl I am
It's basically they are ignoring the fact you are actually human as well.

I sometimes
No I always
Wonder if people
Would actually miss me
Out of the love and pain of their heart
Not just cause I helped them with homework or a problem

I however
Never seem
To realize
That no one would care
Except my parents and my five friends

I fail
To realize
That nobody except my family and five friends
Will see me for the me I truly was

I fail
To realize
That nobody but my family and five friends
Will truthfully miss me

I fail to realize
Because I shield reality
So it don't break me
If I see reality I shed tears constantly
If I see reality I see how terrible this world is
And all I can wonder is
If I died
Who would care
If I died
Who would see me for who I actually am
If I died
Who would miss me
If I died
Why was I given suicidal thoughts to begin with
Why was I bullied so much
Why was I hurt so much
Why did everyone break me
Why did I have to cry at everything
Why couldn't I have been tougher
Why couldn't I have fought longer
Why didn't I keep the ones that loved me close
Why did I push my loved ones away
Why did I make so many mistakes
Why did I turn away from God so much
Why did I doubt God
Why did I lose my best friends
Why did I gain friends worth more that I deserve
Why am I treated so nicely when I am a bad person
Why
Why
Why do I wish I were dead?
I have life so good
So why do I want to end it so badly
No matter how much I oust the thoughts away
Suicide
Anxiety
Depression
Low self esteem
No confidence

They come back stronger than I can handle anymore
So I want to just end it all
The headaches
The heartaches
They all come back

When asked if I am okay
All I can reply is
I'm fine
It's all I can do

But the only question
I want people to ask is

Why?

i feel like a train station and what i mean is, i am something liminal. what i mean is, everyone is always leaving. it is always getting dark and everything is always too loud. there is ruin where ruin shouldn't be. there is stench of bad decisions in the dirt. what i mean is, i am always halfway to a beautiful place. i have only seen heaven from the postcards
   -*my heaven would be a love without betrayal

I want a room with a window,
White walls of the sun,
And a floor from the trees,
A hole for the stars to be seen.
I want a curtain across the door
The door far from the window,
A bed inches from the floor
Where I sprawl across
Just next to my bookcase,
A few pillows on the ground,
A soft rug below.
And the sun will burn through every morning
But only to burn the night cold,
And when it rains
It patters my home
And I see it roll from
The first drop of birth
To its journey of tiny rivers across.
And when I have much to think
And none to speak to,
I will watch the moon dance
With the clouds of disguise,
And I will watch and watch
Until sleep lulls me by.
I can picture it all so well,
So vivid, so detailed,
Almost feeling the heat of the sun,
Hear the sound of the rain,
The memories of the stars,
But here I am,
Sitting and sitting
Knowing what I want
But having no clue
How to get it, to get there.
I wanna make a home
A place of my own,
But here I am
And I can't go.

People have butterflies  
In their stomach they say, 
When something tickles their heart away. 
They say something dances in there, 
That something gets them all red . 
That is how they know  
When something is good for their heart, 
The butterflies, I suppose is a sign of love 
-captured in their heart, 
Making their way around, 
The butterflies dances to someone else's songs 
And the world they live in  
Gets brighter. 
 
People say  
They have butterflies  
In their stomach, 
When someone tickles their heart 
But all I feel is a burn 
As if acid churns up my soul. 
It rises in my guts to my heart  
Perhaps to burn the love  
Or the fingers perhaps that tickles it, 
Perhaps because  
the butterflies in my stomach 
are dead! 
In others they remain dormant  
In mine they just died for living too long  
In hope but no fingers to carve their world. 
Maybe they died in their pupas 
Suffocated by all the strangling hands, 
Or maybe they flew away  
In search of someone in the past. 
But the acid I feel 
Is their ashes still ablaze, 
I guess that is what is most probable 
That they died long ago,
Been stuck there for too long 
Held hostage by my fear 
And burnt by the matches
People unknowingly rubbed along. 
And so every time something, 
Every time you tickle my heart, 
I guess it is good for it, 
Fire burns in my stomach, 
Rises up my guts  
And I run to throw up, 
To throw it all away. 
I don't think I am made to tickle. 
I have fire in my heart, 
It burns everything away  
And I have carcasses of wings to clean up!