I’m not sure why I thought this.
I had a rule, fat girls weren’t allowed to have short hair.
What I was saying is, I wasn’t allowed to have short hair because I was fat.
A form of punishment you could call it.
I didn’t think I deserved to have short hair.
Today I was going to go get my hair done.
I was sitting and looking at a magazine, I was waiting to see if they had anyone available.
I don’t know why, for some reason I decided to finally cut my hair short.
While the girl was cutting my hair, I looked around and saw other clients.
I didn’t want to look; I was afraid I had made the wrong choice.
It was too late though; she was already cutting it.
But I raised my head after I gave myself a speech inside my head.
I said it is just hair. It will grow back Steph.
I peeked at it and looked down quickly.
I looked again, is that really me?
The hairdresser blow dried my hair.
She asked afterwards, do you like it?
I didn’t know what to say besides yes I love it.
I really love it.
Do I really love it?
It’s a big change from my long hair.

The sun is beating down on his face; he is an older man.
He is sitting on a park bench; he is feeding birds bread.
A girl comes walking up to the older man, she seems happy to see him.
The girl is crying tears of joy it seems.
The older man hugs the girl, they sit down on the bench.
The girl hands him a box, a box full of letters she wrote to him over the years.
The man slowly reads each one, sometimes smiling and laughing at what he reads.
He begins to read more, the man starts crying.
He is reading about her issue with her weight and food.
He reads about her self-harm.
The man slowly looks at the girl, he says I'm sorry honey.
I'm sorry I couldn't of been there for you, but I'm here now.

Band aids fill my arms.
People are staring, I wish I didn’t have to have these band aids on.
If I didn’t though everyone would be concerned.

Even though everything seemed to be going wrong, I somehow managed to keep going.
I had thought about death and suicide before.
I spent hours where I was debating on if I should keep going.
I didn’t know how to say good-bye to the world.
I didn’t know what my last words would be, since I had so many words left to say.
Something stopped me from taking all those pills.
Everything seemed to be keeping me down.
Darkness was my friend.
I put a rope around the fan, I was going to hang myself.
I didn’t want my grandmother to find me hanging there.
My corpse would give her nightmares.

A, Anorexia.

B, Body Image

C, Cutting.

D, Death.

E, Emblaze.

F, Forgiveness.

G, Gene.

H, Helpless.

I, Insane.

J, Jocund.

K, Kindness.

L, Lost.

M, Memories.

N, Numb.

O, Oxygen.

P, Patience.

Q, Quiet.

R, Rejected.

S, Suicide.

T, Tired.

U, Undo.

V, Vivid.

W, Worthless.

X, Xanthippe.

Y, Yellow.

Z, Zombie.

I’m afraid no one hears me.
I’m afraid no one will listen to my words.
I’m afraid that my writing will be forgotten.
I’m afraid you won’t miss me.
I will never be a famous writer.
My life will be too short; I will never get to live.
The abuse ruled my life.
The cutting made my life a living hell, I wanted to stop. I really did want to stop I promise.
I’m sorry if this is the last thing I write.
I never meant to hurt you, I wanted to love you forever.

I decided to wear a short sleeve shirt today since it was hot.
I was going to a church cook out.
I didn’t really want to go, but I did.
I thought it would be fun, I had a good attitude about it.
Something happened though, this guy came up to me.
He said you’re a cutter, he saw my scars and cuts.
I had band aids on them, they were coming off though a little.
He said you’re a cutter and then laughed.
Why did he laugh?
Was it funny to him?
Did he just not know what to say?
I have had people stare at me before.
I have had people comment on my weight.
But no one has said anything about my self-harm scars and cuts.
I guess he thought it was funny.
I don’t find it funny.
I’m glad this day is over.

The child is crying, she is helpless.
People are yelling at her.
She is trying to grab onto her mother.
I couldn’t handle the screaming, I heard a lot of it when I was younger.
I didn’t want to scream; I didn’t want to say anything.
I’m as bad as the people who abused me.
I’m no better I watched her cry, I didn’t pick her up.
I’m so sorry.

The houses line the street, some big and some small.
Beautiful big trees are in every yard, orange and brown leaves falling off of them.
Kids are playing, a little girl is playing with chalk in her driveway.
Another child is learning to ride her bike on the sidewalk, her dad is so proud of her.
I see this girl, she is sitting in her front yard in the grass, she is beautiful.
She is wearing black jeans with a black long sleeve shirt on.
She has a book next to her.
Her eyes look sad, I wonder why?

She said razor blades.
I started thinking about cutting.
I hate myself I can’t even think of knifes or razors, if I do I want to cut.

Purple shirts.
Purple markers.
Purple jewelry.
It’s your favorite color.
I packed all my purple things away in a box.
I hate the color purple; it reminds me of you.
I later came to realize; I should not hate a color.
Purple has done nothing to me.
I started wearing the color purple again.
It reminds me of the good times.
It reminds me of how much I truly miss you every day.

I hugged you for the first time in 3 months.
You smelled good.
You smelled of sweat pea and vanilla.
The blue shirt you had on tonight, it smelled like your cookies and it smelled like dad.
I wish I could have kept hugging you.
I love you.

I feel like I’m dying each day.
I feel like I’m suffocating, no one is there to help me breath.
Sometimes I feel so bad.
It’s an overwhelming feeling.
Do you see me?
Have I become invisible?

Can you teach me how to fly?
I have fallen so many times.
Don’t be scared to help me.
I’m broken inside, believe you will be fine.
I won’t let you touch the broken pieces of my life, I don’t want you cut.
Please help me fly.
Please don’t be scared of me.

You remind me of crystals.
You shimmer and shine.
You are beautiful, you don’t look human.
Your skin is cold, your never warm enough.
You are my best-friend.
You are only in my imagination.

Suicide, my killer.
Anorexia, my friend.
Razors and knifes, a tool to cut my wrist.
Pens, they smear, I hate them. Paper, once you write on paper it’s official.
I have things holding me down, life is depressing.
Yes, I smile and laugh, it never lasts.
I’m sorry grandma.
I’m sorry mom.
Apologizes are forgiven, but it happens over and over and they say sorry. You keep forgiving.
I’m tired of living, it’s hard.

Never find fault in yourself, you were created in perfection. In the image of God.
Never be normal, be different. That makes you special. It makes you who you are.
Never hide in the shadows, shine in the light that is waiting for you.
You may be in darkness, but you are not alone. There are those who are walking beside you. You can feel their presence, their aura.
Close your eyes and concentrate on the love our aura gives. Feel yourself drawn to warmth of hugs and close embraces. Feel the hands holding you. Fall into us. Find comfort and peace. Then put the knife down and sleep in our embrace.

Wildflowers
Remind me of people.
Their all different, not one exactly the same.
Some are beautiful.
Some are bright.  
I love them all.
They bring me joy.

I’m tired, I wish I could sleep more.
I went to the bathroom, I looked in the mirror.
I practiced my fake smile, I might need it today.
Black clothes are my favorite, I put a black band t-shirt on.
I put my hair up, I look in the mirror again.
I see a broken hearted girl with parents who don’t love her.
I want to die; I don’t want to fight or struggle anymore.
I wanted to get away from my parents, I still do.
I don’t want to keep moving around.
I feel like a piece of furniture that people buy and then later sell.
My birth-family didn’t want me, my adoptive parents don’t want me do they?

I blame myself for taking my father’s life away.
I’m sorry daddy, I’m sorry I had to be your little girl.

Little girls and little boys bundled up in promises and loving hearts.
Teenagers struggling to survive.
Suicide is the killer; teens think that’s the best way.
I can’t really speak for all teens though.
I wasn’t bundled up in promises that were going to be kept.
I had a loving heart but it is broken now.
Suicide isn’t my killer, although it might have been.

I see people walking around like zombies.
The people have dark, empty, sad eyes.  
I never thought I would be one of those people, but I am.
I’m not sure when I became this way.
I’m not even sure if I want to stop being this way either.

He knows the risks; he still doesn’t care.
He has two little ones and a wife to think about.
He is a pretty good guy; he has always been there for me.
A lot of good memories with him, he has helped a lot.
He won’t wear his seatbelt though.
Does he have a suicide wish?
I want to say something to him.
I don’t want to lose him.

I texted my mom, I said goodnight.
I took a shower, I thought I would check my phone after that.
I could barely stand in the shower.
I am dizzy, my baby cousin ate more food tonight than I did these past 3 days.
I weighed myself I lost 9 pounds.
I thought of the reasons I was starving myself.
I checked my phone, my mom said night.
I was hoping she would say I love you Steph.

Hey, I thought I would write something for all my followers.
I would like to start off by thanking Word Freak.
Word Freak was my first ever follower, he is the one who told me about this site.
Thank you to cgembry, the first person to like my work.
Thank you, Teresa Alaska the first person to comment on my work.
Thank you, Anna-Maria Rose Newell, you have given me a lot of inspiration.
Thank you, Walter W. H., David Hewitt, and Enslaved King you also have given me inspiration.
Thank you, Joellei for always being here when I need someone to talk to!
Thank you, Flames for a martyr, Toxic moon and Vicki.
Thank you, Woody, Stephen, and Keith Wilson.
Thank you, Bleeding Diamonds you make me smile and laugh.
Thank you, Jennifer DeAngelo for writing a poem about me.
Thank you, Eebi Jonson the first person I collaborated with.
Thank you, Kristy Renae Dalton.
Thank you,  John Stevens for raising your two beautiful grandchildren, I can tell they really love you.
Thank you, so much John Stevens for reading my work and giving me endless amounts of support.
Thank you to John Stevens wife also.
Thank you to all my followers each and every one of you are special to me.

Dad messaged me yesterday around 5.
I thought this drama was over.
He said listen carefully, so I did.
He said, I have 2 choices.
I can come home Sunday, or have grandma take legal guardianship of me.
No middle ground he said.
If I go back to my parents’ home, he said I won’t see grams except for the weekend.
He has said all this before.
This time feels different though.
He said make a decision after I read his messages, I was supposed to message him right after.
I told him this is a life alerting choice, a decision I can’t make alone.
I told him I would be at the house on Sunday though, what else could I have said?
I went to my aunt’s house yesterday, to get her opinion on it.
I’m getting a lawyer, I’m ready to live life.

I went to the house, for the first time in months.
I had spent so many hours here.
This felt like home, this is where my heart was at.
I wasn’t supposed to be here; my parents would get mad.
I wanted to see them though.
My aunt, my uncle, my cousins.
I didn’t want it to end, I walked through the house looking at everything.
I saw the vase I made my aunt.
I saw pictures of me when I was younger.
My cousin and I played basketball.
I watched my uncle watch football.
I talked to my oldest cousin.
I memorized the house before I left.
I don’t know when I will see you all again.
I love you so much.

I don’t want to miss you today, I wanted today to be a good day.
Missing you drains me, I cry when I think about you.
Why couldn’t things work out?
I’m sorry things couldn’t have been different.
I’m listening to the song that reminds me of you.
I didn’t want to hear this song; I didn’t want to think about you today.

Say something.
Speak up, you have a voice don’t you?
Doesn’t anyone want to listen to you?
You are lovely, can’t you see that?

Broken heart.
My dad.
Lost love.
Self-harm.
Making things ok with my mother.
Seeing my cousins grow up.

None of this matters now.
I’m tired of living, maybe I should die.

One time is all it took for me to believe that you truly hated me.
One time is all it took for my hand to hurt, you kept hitting me though.
One time you left me in a parking lot and hid your car so I couldn’t see you, I was scared every time I went into the store from then on, you said it was funny.
One time I self-harmed in my bedroom, it became an addiction after that.
One time I stole something from my cousin and I kept stealing, I needed your attention.
You wouldn’t listen to me; you wouldn’t hold me.
The words I love you wasn’t said much.
I love you, do you hear me?
I don’t hate you.
Things need to change though.
I can’t keep living in fear, I can’t see grandma cry because of what you said to me.
Grandma blames herself, she thinks it’s her fault.
I need you, I need my mom.

She likes the smell of forgotten old books, the ones that are hidden in the library shelves.
She likes taking the books home and reading them all night long in her bed.
She will always take a book with her, no matter where she is going.
She can escape into fictional worlds, where she fights dragons and warlocks.
One day she hopes she can write a book, one day she hopes to inspire others.

My aunt sits on my grandma’s couch crying; I have been in the same spot doing exactly the same thing myself a million times.
My cousin, sits at the table blocking out her mom’s pain.
My cousin, she hides her pain.
My cousin wants people to think she is happy, she doesn’t want to waste a moment of life.
My grandmother is worried about her daughter, my aunt.
I’m worried about my cousin, she is good at hiding what she is feeling.
I try to make her happy, see her parents almost got a divorce when she was 7.
Her father cheated on my aunt.
Money problems fill their world.
Sickness and death has filled my cousin’s life to many times.
My cousin says she won’t turn out like her mom.

Rain falling, it's really pouring.
People fighting inside the house.
I'm tired I didn't get much sleep, I'm surprised the rain usually makes me sleep.

I stopped writing when I was 8, because my mom said I was no good.
Words are powerful, by her saying I was no good I stopped writing.
I never thought I would pick up another pen and write a poem again.
But I did write another poem again, I started writing again when I was 12.
I stopped again a year later when I was 13, the year I started self-harming.
I really thought I would never write again.
Until I was almost 14, a teacher I had encouraged me to write again.
I couldn’t imagine not writing now, I don’t know where I would be without it.

My body has bruises from you hitting me.
You should see my heart though; it’s broken because of you.
I don't know how much more I can take of this abuse.
You said you loved me, I believed you.

I had a bad night last night.
Texts from my mom saying grandma should raise me full time.
She said she will take me to probate court and sign away her rights as a mother.
Is she a mother? Could you really call her that?
My mom said it’s better this way for all involved.
It’s better for her if she wouldn’t have a daughter anymore?
My mom told me that my dad has missed me, he wanted to pick me up and bring me back.
My mother said I know you aren’t happy at our house.
You have lived with your grandma most of your life, of course she is going to make you happier.
Who’s fault is that? You sent me to grandma’s house when I was little because you didn’t want to deal with me.
My mother thinks I hate her, she acts like I haven’t made any effort to fix things.

I have the table arranged perfectly, with two lit candles.
I’m wearing a long beautiful blue dress, it’s his favorite color.
The dinner is ready, I decide to sit at the table and wait.
I wait for hours; the food is cold.
He isn’t coming home, it’s just me at this table.
I knew he wouldn’t, he’s been dead for 3 years.
It’s my birthday though, we always had dinner together on my birthday.
I miss him.

The edge looks so inviting.
I could close my eyes and it could be all over.  
One step and then I’m dead.
Should I jump?

Look at me, my skin has dealt with a lot.
Scars and bruises fill my body.
My body is fragile, it breaks and bruises easily, that doesn’t stop you from hitting me.
Scars are on my wrist; it doesn’t stop me from cutting though.

I have loved, Now I have lost the love of my life.
I’m done loving people, at least for now.
My heart is broken.

I’m not crazy I swear;
My mind isn’t all here though.

Cold and tired, I’m hungry.
I need sleep it’s 4:32,I have been talking to you all night.
You make everything seem ok.
Text after text, talking about everything.
I want to hear your voice; I have fallen asleep to your voice before.
It’s 1:34 where you are, you need sleep, you’re not a night owl like me.
I love you, I’m going to sleep now.
Sweet dreams.

I wrote a poem on my wrist, I used a razor as a pen.
I know I will die someday of me hitting a vein when I self-harm.
When I leave this world would you miss me?

Can I call you daddy would that be ok?
See I was told you were my biological dad my whole life.
Until my biological mom said otherwise.
I asked for a DNA test, you said yes I would love to do that.
But when I really pushed your promise of doing a DNA test you said no.
Can I still call you daddy? Is that what you are?
I miss you so much.
I know why you declined the DNA test, you were dating this woman named Theresa.
If I was your daughter, that means you were cheating on Theresa.
It’s a confusing tale I know.
All I want to know is are you my daddy? I need to know.

Sometimes when I look into my mom’s eyes, it feels like I don’t know her, it feels like evil has taken over.

I hear kids talk about their parents, how awful it is because they didn’t let them have ice cream.
I hear kids talk about their parents, how they can’t get along, how they wish they were 18 so they could get away from them. When they are really just trying to love you.
Someone told me what I was going through wasn’t abuse.
There right it’s not abuse, my mom hitting me with a remote can be called an accident.
My mom saying, she hates me, can be blamed on me she was stressed.
I was offered help by someone I knew, someone who could get me away from the abuse.
I didn’t want to hurt my mom and dad though; I didn’t want them to lose everything.
A part of me knows they really are abusing me.
They love me right? What if the person abusing you is your own parents?
Is it tough love? Could they really just be abusing me? Why is that so hard to comprehend.
If a girl or guy gets in an abusive relationship, right away people run to help if there lucky of course.
Why can’t this case be abuse?
Why can’t I leave them?
I love them, I love my abusers that’s why I can’t leave.

The past, one thing we can never change.
The future, we look back on the past, looking at things that have happened hoping things get better.
We cannot change the past, we want to though.
We wish this never happened.
We wish our loved one hadn’t died.
People say it’s the past move on, it’s not that easy.
Walk around with my pain and anxiety from losing my birth family.
Then tell me, it’s in the past.
Have your mom scream at you and call you awful names, try to forgive her, remember what you said it’s in the past move on.
I try to move on, I try to forgive and love.
I try to not think of the past, it haunts me though.

Beaten, ******, and scared.
I’m tired, you think you can beat me.
You think it’s ok to smash my head into the wall until I’m ******.
I’m scared of you; I’m scared when I wake up.
I’m scared something I will say or do won’t be good enough for you.

I saw a group of girls tonight, they were thin, of course beautiful.
I was anxious and scared, I didn’t know what to do.
Plan A, run away fast so they don’t have time to see you at all.
Plan B, keep your head down and walk past them.
I have heard people laugh when I walked by.
I have had people whisper and look at me before.
I have had a girl say your fat right in my face.
I didn’t want to judge these girls; I didn’t know them.
If I walked by, they could laugh or make jokes about me.  
But I walked by them with my head held high, they said nothing, they didn’t laugh.
I think one girl even smiled at me.

Don’t give up, fight.
You are strong, believe me you are.
Don’t give up, you have friends and family.
Someone loves you, I promise.
Don’t give up, you still have me.
You are beautiful.
There is a place for you here on this beautiful, confusing world I swear.