I believe the people we are today is made up of everyone we've met and everything we've been through..
So it makes sense if we lose parts of ourselves when we lose people,

It's okay if I'm contradicted, insecure, or have anger issues because I lost the people who made me this way..
They were the Pablo Picasso to my painting.
I am a painting with weird colors and unfinished lines and circles..
And I am upset at times because the good people couldn't draw more pretty parts on my painting,
And the bad ones couldn't stay long enough to fix the dark ugly parts.

I look for the smallest details
The silliest most blurry memories
Even pain sometimes helps to remember what we used to have.
Anything to feel the way I used to feel.

It's not that hard to be appealing to others makeup is not that expensive,
Just like it isn't hard to make the perfect topping on a cake. You'd make a pretty cake but a tasteless one.
It's always the easiest to pick based on the surface, live your days through your eyes.

That's what most do.

It's hard to fight the disease of "who's the prettiest",

But it's harder sitting alone at night knowing you're nothing without the topping of your cake.

Be my morning sunshine,
My goodnight kiss.
Be my favorite love song, always on repeat.

Be my first thought, and my last one.
My laughter, my tears.
The one I'll give the last slice of pizza and the last bite of my cookie.

The reason I write,
The words to my sentences.

Let your name be melody to my ears.

Would you accept all the dark parts?
That I may never be all yours?
Never be all here, with you?
Knowing that some shreds of me are still lingering with those who abandoned me?
Would you still choose to stay?
To love what's left of me?

People one minute they're here,
The next they disappear.
Start to wonder if they were ever real,
Even from myself I begin to fear,
That I may not be sincere with everyone I hold dear.

Trying to make myself happy but then I remember I have no control over my own life I will always be owned by someone either parents or a husband
I make my own life decisions, after they've been approved by someone else
I am not a free woman nor a slave, I'm in between
Most don't bother to dream, most simply deals with it, no room for goals, do as you've been told
But I am not most, I'm those others who DREAM and FIGHT FOR THEIR GOALS!
I am others
I am the free women who aren't free but aren't slaves.

So many nights I wished someone could stay

So many nights I wished someone could be the sun in my storm of thoughts

I try to hide it all throughout the day but every night I drown so many times

And I wait..

To be saved..
But no one ever comes.

My poetry isn't just good words which rhyme well,
Isn't about stories to simply tell,
It's the tears which I never shed,
Everything that could never be said,
The feelings which I don't want to take to bed.

You're a rose, pretty and bright
Full of thrones, you cut deep
And your beautiful red color hides the blood I bleed.