Poetry has become my self harm,
I only write at my lows...
Instead of blood I see words,
Instead of a blade I have a keyboard...

I want to write about...
The wind dancing with the sea...
Or...
The way you smile and it lights up your innocent face...

I don't want poetry to be my self harm,
Because poetry is beautiful...
An art...
Not.
Just.
Blood.
And.
Scars.

there's nothing romantic about
stinging, shaking legs
and a still silence
surrounding lovers that creates
screams in their heads --
where did i go wrong
i'm such an idiot
there's nothing beautiful
about blood and self-loathing,
insecurities and guilt.
there's no turning around.
there's only moving forward.
and maybe they'll both be different,
but they'll probably stay the same.
and there's nothing --
nothing --
pretty about that.

I am a
Porcelain doll
Cracked and fragile

I am not a
Princess
Living in a castle

I am damaged
and imperfect

I am not happy
I don't have a tiara

I am sad
I have scars

When goodnight
Turned to
Goodbye

When sun
Turned to
Stars

When smiles
Fades

When laughter
Is lost

When tears
Turned to
Sobbing

When the eyes
Twinkle lost
Their luster

When pen
Turned to
Razor

When words
Turned to
Blood

When life
Became
A nightmare

When daisies
Turned to
Dead roses

I said
Goodbye