Ribbon on the floor.

I can't take it anymore.

I will never be a prep.

I will never be fake.

I will never be the thing I hate.

To me a Dandelion is not only a ****, killed, hated, yet god's prayers, for every wish to become true. Yet a beautiful sprung grown, flower wanting to be a rose, but accepting the fact that being a Dandelion is good.

My body is still. I enjoy the air. I live out the freedom in the moment. My chest up, down; breath after breath. Dress flowing with the wind. My bare feet, toes twine with the grass. The water at the end of the cliff bouncing off the dirt forming an army of waves, a battle. The moon center of my view, my mind. I am at peace. I am fearless. I am home.

I am done with life. I hate myself. I hate people. I want the sweet sent of suicide to rome amongst my feet. I feel of no place for me to be in. I am a disturbance. 

How can I be so ugly in and out. I don't fit in. I am bullied. I am abuse with sounds and fists. I am alone. No one can relate. I am stuck.

I mustn't talk, no, not a sound. It's a sin if expressed. I am the passage way to depression, enjoy the ride while you can. I am sorrow. I am me, the worst to be.

Why must I be alone? What did I do? Well I can't complain, if god did this then what is he to be of heaven. God is the root to all evil. Well in my world he is. Believe and are betrayed.
I don't understand my meaning of life. Why must you drop me from heaven if so then why thee others gracefully down. I hate how I am separate from myself. The different views. The world is a dark place. I feel of nothing to be cheerful of. I am my only friend.

Most of you think, wow, great writing. These are my feelings. This poem is my mind. The only way I can communicate to any other is this, yet they read and just continue life without a doubt, while I am still right here. What have I become, a monster, a guesser.