Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
So what?
If you don't like me
I like myself just alright,
Just alright to go on.

So what?
If you turn me down
I will go on living,
Writing more stories.

I just wanna be more.
I wanna live a little more.
I wanna explore a bit more.
I'll love myself a little more
To make it all fine for me.
Here I am
Being me
No feel for me
Here I am

Depression?
How can you name my mind?
I have no name
My mind is my mind
One day
I want to find
This
Paradisum
That is your
Embrace.
One day
I will
Finally
Be able
To tell you
I love you

~Fin.
One day
I cannot compose brilliant poems, sonnets, or verses,

and I cannot speak to you in Latin or Greek;

I cannot move you with any language made up by man.

Love is the only only language I could touch you with

If you only knew how much I could love you.

If you knew I love you;

If I were brave enough to tell you at all.
I keep reminding myself, that mental illness goes along with greatness. Hemingway. Sylvia Plath. Billie Holiday. Dickens. Melville. These are just a few of the great minds that suffered from a fine madness. Should they have been medicated into mediocrity? Or lived in mediocrity because they were not properly medicated or in proper treatment?
All of these individuals: exceptional human beings.
Note: Do you want to be exceptional? Or exceptionally dead.
Sun at its peak, everything outside is so bright,
but her room is giving a horrific sight.
She stands in front of mirror wearing his favorite dress.
Her reflection looks back at her, asking
"who are you?"
She touches her lips, closes her eyes.
"You're a freak and I love it. Can you be mine?"
She opens her eyes wide,
as woke up from a nightmare,
or maybe it was only a haunted memory.
But something is breaking inside.
She picks up lipstick, paints her lips red.
Looks damaged but but beautiful outside.

"I love you so much. You're the best thing happened to me. Stay with me forever. You're my life."
She walks towards the side table.
A suicide note is waiting there to get read.
Burning it with her lighter, she smiles.

"Why are you so depressed all time? What is bothering you?
Why you get this anxiety? You got me baby. Its all fine."
She turns and makes her calendar marked 6th of July.
Putting all pain behind,
she lefts a sigh of relief as if the beast,
that stalks her is duped forever.

"Why are you so possessive? I hate it.
How can you have a lot of Internet friendships but no friends in real? You gotta change yourself."
She walks through the door.
A new life is ahead her.

"No you don't have to change yourself this way. Don't be childish."
She is going down through stairs.

"There is nothing normal with you. You always exaggerate things. Sometimes I hate even myself to be with you."

Suddenly she hears a phone ring coming out of her room.
Her stomach drops.

"Things are not working out baby I'm sorry..."

She is going back to her room.

"We must get separated."

Her hands trembling, her heart making a one last wish.

"Why did you cut your wrist? I hate you even more now"

Mommy's text was there that she might get late today.

"You're a freak. Get out of my life."

She smashes her phone into mirror.
She is done with being all fine.
She is not going outside now to show the world that she is strong.
Her screams filling the room.
"I love you please come back."
But only echoes are there laughing back at her.
And here she goes
writing again a suicide note.
Lately I wasn't feeling fine and I wrote this. Maybe there are some mistakes but this is what all I have to write
the angel on my shoulder
picked up smoking,
the devil on the other
took up yoga—

they don't know
how much they have
in common.
Next page