I never really understood
why anybody would want to hurt
themselves
it confused me
I thought it was contradicting
because nobody liked pain

until the days got longer and I started crying into my pillow
changed the cases so my mom wouldn't see
all of the mascara stains

then when I started crying the middle of class
because of anger
its socially unacceptable to throw tantrums
or cuss someone out in the middle of the hall
or punch a wall

so you have to keep it in
and stay silent

then the breakdown in the middle of the night
nobody to talk to
they all call my suicidal thoughts tomfoolery
and attention seeking
because its so often I have these nights
so I stopped relying on imaginary hearts
and silently
crying wasn't enough
to fill my 3 am emptiness
nobody could hear I was unstable

no screaming
no burning old pictures
no breaking plates
just silence
so the quietest option was a blade

and yet the scars remain to show weakness and instability
but at least they can be covered
and nobody's is being awaken in the mid night

that's all they care about
not how you feel but how you look

and that's how I figured out
why anybody would hurt themselves

it seems as though
when surrounded by smoke
of different illicit substances
that numb the minds of sad mortals
I tend to sit silently
feet stomping by
hands being held as different couples
one by one
pass by to visit the sanctuary of
a lonely bedroom
table for two
the breath I let out smells
smells that belong to broken promises
I made when I was young
no difference between the heater
above my head
and the door inviting in spirits
who were too cold to last outside
they both bring chills
they both bring memories
of the different places I have been
sitting on a staircase
the green carpet
upset from ashes flicked
into its skin
kinda like that one time
u burned me so hard with the fire
I saw inside of you
the fire I thought was a flame of light
and not a flame of hell
it burned through my flesh
and the scars
don't look like the burns that usually appear
deeper
smaller
can open just to close
to open up again
but here I am with those
just as ****** up as I am
hoping these brain cells will do all of the talking
but no
instead it takes me back to the same staircase
where I sit after taking too many drinks
and I wait for you to answer the phone

a great quantity of money
goes to education
but what about being  brainwashed
we indirectly pay for it
we are blind to the world
a fine line between facts and opinions
and putting two and two together
it takes 1 line in our life
a goodbye kiss
a death
someone's last sentence
to learn everything we need to
so much money
to think how someone else thinks

unoriginality

we save up for

my grades are bad
but little do they know Im bored

I hate education
spending money and a large percentage
of our lives
to turn our organic minds
into a one way street
that everybody is parked on

not everyone makes the team

losers don’t get trophies too

its not about the happy ending its about the story

you cant “trust everyone until they give u a reason not to”

im not as smart as u made me think I was, it hit me hard when applying for college and dating boys

if something doesn’t come back, it wasn’t urs in the first place, but u never told me that they could come back for the wrong reason

drunken words arnt always sober thoughts, but drunken cravings

not everyone who says they love me means it

people can look into ur eyes and still be lying, and they make it look easy

I cant change the world, the world changed me and now we are just struggling together

bad grades doesn’t mean no intelligence

the sun always comes back up, yeah, but I don’t know that if Im too busy crying under my covers for 4 days straight

my coat will keep me warm from the cold weather but why didn’t u tell me what keeps my cold fear of losing people stop shivering?

I cant be whatever I want to be

the man I marry wont always treat me like a princess, but he might to the woman he leaves in the middle of the night for

dancing doesn't make everything better, it just makes u realize u had a partner to dance with

***** is a coping skill

drugs arnt the only thing that makes me hallucinate, deep green eyes do too

the news doesn't actually exaggerate

some scars never heal

the girl who claimed she never believed in love died, of heartbreak

I was young
juvenile
roaming at hours
unacceptable for a six year old
barefoot
writing stories in a sandbox
stories I aspired people would read
and find me
to help
but I didn't know how to write

3 years later
I still ambled out at night
nobody to tell me not to
I had no room
I had shoes
green converse
2 sizes too large
I purchased for a dollar
at a garage sale
by myself
I called it curb side shopping
we had nothing
I was happy
it comes back to me now
how I grew up
my life took a 180
but I am still the young girl
who used to cry for help through illiterate sand box letters
and would wander barefoot at midnight
and skip myself to school
hours later
calculator was my favorite toy
I taught myself to swim
to ride a bike
to write
I now know how to handle myself
when im lost
I take my shoes off and wander
to know me all wrong
is how people treat me
I once had nothing
and that keeps me grounded today
when im knee deep in reminiscing thoughts

by myself
yet I still cant handle to be alone
a childhood in Dallas
with nobody by my side
***** me over
for now I cant be alone for more than an hour
or I will fall into the past and stay there for days
before I can come back to the surface
childhood is a burning acid on my skin
or is it Goosebumps
it comes and goes
but it will leave a mark
a scar
childhood

Your breath on my neck isn't intended to make me warmer, you want to make my spine tingle with questions, you want me in your bed tonight. The air is getting colder as the sun oozes out of our sight. Your eyes get a darker green when you're determined. My blood plumps, you can hear it, your eardrum blasts my heartbeat in its cave. Your eyelids slump and unfold again slowly. I'm panicking. Your skin is white and my thoughts are black and I cant seem to grasp your morals but you have me in the palm of your hand, and I am the lady bug trying to creep out of the crevices.
the distance between us, a commodious of wants and needs and hopes, possibly dreams. You have bad intentions, as do I, but we are so lovely, alluring in a combination