Ode to the girl working 5pm-5am trying to earnot her living.
Ode to the girl who cares for a small cat in a dreary room that cost almost $300 a month to live in.
Ode to the girl who works herself dead, where her workplace is home and her body is rejecting food because sheshe too poor to eat now.

Yes, if you haven't gotten the message by now, it's about me.
For working so hard and being all I can be, I certainly don't give myself much credit.
I work over 55 hours a week, sometimes I get up into the 60s.
Yeah, I'll complain I'm tired or that I wanna go home.
But do you see me missing my shift?
I worked my *** off and got a promotion and all my family thinks is that it's not nearly good enough, because I work at Dominos.

So this is for me.
This is for me staying up until 5 or 6 in the morning just to get up at 10am to play with my cat and feed her.
Staying up again until 5am the next morning, continuously only running on 4 or 5 hours of sleep.
I get less sleep than a college student.
And for once
I'm gonna tell myself good job
Because I live on my own, I pay my own bills.
I just bought my own car and I just might get a second job
All this for myself,
And ****

I'm so proud

If I die young, don't let my family put me in a church or place they deem holy, for its not holy to me.

If I die young, lay me down by the roots of an old oak tree.
Let the wind blows my hair and caress my cold skin

If I die young, take care of her.
Take care of the girl I taught like a daughter and loved like a sister
Teach her everything is okay and that I was once ashes and I will be ashes once more.
Tell her I loved her and give her all my possessions
Teach her that I will be okay and I will watch over her as she grows up strong and wise like I taught her.

If I die young, take care of  my children.
The ones who fight against their monsters with battle axes and confidence that I'll be proud of them
Tell them I died fighting just as they are now
And tell them never to give up because I'm still so proud.

If I die young, burn me with the logs of trees long dead
Let my ashes spread through the sky and fall like fresh snow
Make sure to give everyone my best.

If I die young, please
Please don't forget about me

Well, we had a good run
And alls fun and games until someone falls
But what you dont realize is that you made me fall for you
And thats not the kind of love i wanted for myself

Because if one FALLS one can GET BACK UP
so if I have FALLEN in love with you chances are I'll just STAND back up and keep walking.

So gather your things, my darling
And I'll help you out the door
And the last few words I'll speak to you will be
"I don't love you anymore"

Because I'm done falling and I just wish to stand
I'm kneeling now and they're giving me their hand
They're helping me up instead of bringing me down
And now I'll say goodbye
Because this is the last time you'll see me cry

How does one go on after a suicide?
How does one continue knowing someone they loved wanted to end their life?
How can someone  stand there and lie while they lay in their coffin:
"I will miss her"
When you never knew her to begin with?

What was her favorite coffee creamer?
How well did she sleep at night?
Who was her first love?
Who was her last heartbreak?
How many bones has she broken?
How many tears did she cry over him?

See, you didn't know her. So why would you cry at the sound of her suicide?
You didn't know her like I did.

Her favorite coffee creamer was peppermint mocha.
She never slept at night.
Her first love was the one she wanted.
Her last heartbreak was the one she craved.
She had broken no bones.
She cried enough to fill the ocean over him.

See, I knew her.
You?
You pretended to for the sympathy.

What does one do when they have no inspiration?
How does an artist stay an artist without a muse?
How does one lonely poet write her most beautiful piece yet without the heartbreak driving her nails?

How can a beauty stand alone,
No lover or wondering eye,
How can she love herself when no one is around to hold her up,
When she tears herself down?

When does inspiration strike?
Is it holding your lovers hand or avenging your fallen warrior?
Is it lying alone in a large unforgiving bed,
With the sounds of your sobs as your dying lullaby?

What is inspiration?
When does it strike?
Maybe at the end of this poem,
I'll find mine.

Once I show you the scars on my wrists,
Can I trust you with the wounds on my heart?
Once you see who I was,
Can you handle the person I will become?
Once you hold me in your arms,
Can you ever bare lay a hand on me?
Once you hear me cry,
Could you bare to be the reason for my tears?
Once you see me broken,
Could you piece me back together?

Just hold on baby girl
Your time will come soon
When you will enter Summerland
With those who truly love you
You'll frolic amongst the flowers and dance with in the rain
And that is when you'll see
You'll be whole again