Us poets
Aren't we all the same?

We all write about
Love, lust, heartbreak, hatred.
Depression, self-harm, recovery, relapses.
The sun and the rain, the breeze, the moon and stars.
Remembering, forgetting, past mistakes.

Do we not centre around these topics?

It's all just a matter of
Twisting, manipulating
Phrases used one too many times.
Adding a touch of yourself here,
Another hint there.

To conjure something
We call
Original.

It's hard to forget someone who gave you so much to remember, it hurts.

I still find it
Hard to let go.

I was deluded,
Tricked by myself
Thinking
I had moved on.

But all I had to do
Was replay my favourite memory
Of you and I
And
I had a relapse.

I started falling for you,
Now miles away,
All over again.

Usually I'm fine
With me not being nice to others
And others not being nice to me
In return.
That's okay.
I don't mind
Living a life
Separate from everyone else.  

But then I see people
Being nice to others
And I think
"Why doesn't anyone do this
To me?"

So I end up feeling
Like an unwanted *******.

Is there anyone
Who doesn't cut
In the middle of the night
And hides their scars
Underneath bracelets
And baggy sweaters
But feels sad, suicidal,
Crying in bed,
Losing hope in life?

Is there anyone
Who doesn't starve
Or force herself to puke
With a mind that
Condemns every bit of fat
But feels
Insecure,
Thinks herself as ugly?

Is there anyone
Who isn't ostracised,
Mocked, bullied,
Betrayed
But still feels alone,
Left out,
Out of place?

Is there anyone
Who's neither here
Nor there?

Is there anyone else
Like me?

We're a generation
of bad habits
and hypocrites
that'll do whatever
it takes to be happy;
whatever it takes
to supposedly
remain free.                
        
         Because
         the truth is;
                  we're all addicted
                 to something.

And   we     let       it       get
       the    best    of      us

Oh, save me
From the depths of
Immature
Teenage
Infatuation.