You don't tell your friends that suicide is selfish. You tell them that they're loved.

Where's the fine line between normality and depression?

She’s touched
By the burning fingers
Of a man
She doesn’t know.

Her hopes crushed
By the feeling that lingers
Of a night
She will always know.

Her clothes ripped
Her unheard cries,
Her body stripped
To fight she tries.

Her face is kissed
By a stranger
The man, he hissed
She’s in danger.

She is left rotten
As he walks past
Disappearing into the night
Time drags.

She thought she’d die
She believed she would
No one to hear her cry
No one understood.

With shaky fingers
And sweating chest
She wraps her skin
In clothes of strength.

She stumbled across
On to the street
She’s suffered a loss
A tragedy.

She thought she’d die
But now she wouldn’t
She didn’t cry
She knew she shouldn’t.

A girl is strong
A girl can fight
Right or wrong
A bird’s flight.

She walked home
In clothes of pride
Although scars showed
She didn’t hide.

Justice to her
Must be given
A promise to her
Must be written.

A girl is not
A piece of meat
A girl is worth
More than this feat.

A kiss from a stranger
A touch from a finger
A scream that’ll linger
For years to remember.

A girl is much more
She isn’t to blame,
Fire at the core
A burning flame.

All it takes
Is a scarring explosion
From girls sick
Of ruthless exploitation.

**She fights like a girl
She runs like a girl
She hits like a girl
She is a girl.

She's got the strength
And the power
To rule the world
And to conquer.

The diverse assortment of enrapturing conviction
Is but cacophony to most other than me,
Discord to the passionate,
Defending concepts they find true
Clamor to the indifferent,
Those value peace and human happiness
Above factual correctness
For years they’ve all, with incessant attempts
Given their utmost to indoctrinate me,
The most easily swayed of all—
But I’ve found in the rupturing of the fervent,
All ideology, ethic, doctrine,
And in the serenity of the agreeably pacific
I’ve found faith, hope—I’m sure that’s my own,
Art is by no means meaningless, I find,
Especially so when inherent by human ability
And ascribed to this lyrical poem I’ve crafted
Consisting of what I, by my means, find true
Diverse conviction is beautiful.

Temporary fixes
Is all I've ever looked for.
A little something to take the edge away
A little something to make me forget
A little something to make everything okay
But it never lasts
This temporary fix of mine.
It's prescribed for my head
But never for my heart.
I keep wanting more and more
Because more and more
Just piles up
With
Each
Passing
Day.
This place I call home isn't the safe haven
I've grown up in anymore.
The endless laughter and smiles
Can't cover up the pain I dig into.
My precious notebook and pen
Can't scratch out reality.
Things have changed,
And I just want to get away.
But the more I've tried,
The more I've been denied.
It doesn't work.
It doesn't work.
The pain can be buried,
But uncovered once again.
The cuts might not bleed,
But they've left a scar.
There has to be something more than
This-
Than this temporary fix.