My life is composed of things I didn't ask for,
it has been overtaken by tears, sadness, and blades.
I don't know how this monstrous disease took over, it just did.
It was fine one day and the next- wiped from my memory.
I wish I could figure it out but
all I know is I am closed up tight like a shoe box filled with memories-
I am here, but I am stuffed away, ignored, and overlooked.
You ask why I have these issues and I can't tell you for fear of rejection
so I tear my skin open just to acquire the feeling of being alive
and I don't dare tell someone for they will say I am weak and pathetic.

This is for the girls who are not skinny enough
and the boys with lack of muscular arms and six packs.
This is for the kids who take a blade to their skin when it gets too hard
and then cry themselves to sleep at 4 am.
This is for the kids who can not sleep without the drugs
and the ones who sleep to forget the reality in which they live in.
This is for the kids whose daddy's ran away
and mommy is working 3 jobs to just buy dinner.
This is for the kids whose parents do not care
and the only thing they give are bruises.
This is for the kids who hate themselves so much
and the ones who are trying to find love.
This is for the teenagers who are doing their best
and the adults trying to find their way in this big world.
This is for everyone who does not hear it
and those who do not believe it.
**You are enough.

They say you don't understand, your life is perfect.
But they don't understand.
On the outside I live in a fairy-tale world
where my parents live together
and my father has a job and I am a straight a student.
I have a house and food
and I have siblings and people all around me.
They say I don't have a reason to be sad
but what they don't understand is the mirror is my worst enemy
and I hate myself.
I hate myself so much and no one really knows or loves me.
I have see the blade at 2 AM and I have cried so hard I wanted to throw up. I have ripped open my leg just so I have some type of feeling.
I have trust issues and apparently I should be in a mental institute.
I scream at myself and beg for death to over take me.
They say I don't understand but I do.
I understand how it is to fake laughs and smiles all day,
to be exhausted and wanting sleep so the bad feelings go away
but not being able to.
I understand the fear of your shorts slipping and someone might see
and I know the feeling of loneliness
and I know of begging God to help you
but no one comes.
I understand how hard this life really is even if I don't show it.

Will I ever be good enough?
Most likely not.
I'm not the perfect Christian,
I don't take communion.
I'm not the perfect daughter,
I have opinions and I say them.
I'm not the perfect student,
I can't do public speaking, so I didn't take AP English.
I'm not the perfect teenager,
I have self esteem issues.
I'm not perfect.
I can't keep a friendship to save my life.
I can't talk to people and I can't open up.
I can't trust people so I keep everything bottled up.
But what I don't understand is, why can't you accept me.
Why do you judge me?
Why can't you just accept I'm not perfect.

She is a broken cola bottle.
She has sharp edges that cut to the bone.
She has been dropped-
thrown-
and left outside.
She has been abandoned.
She is a broken cola bottle.

She was always average,
you could sum her up in one word.

She was the easiest to solve,
like the parent function of an equation.