I am not the best
But some say I am not the worst.
I don’t believe them.
Just because your lies are covered
In a thick layer of beauty
Doesn’t make them any less than what they already are.
My voice rarely makes an appearance.
When it does,
It is quiet and shaky.
My legs refused to stand
In front of people that are nothing to me.
I care too much what people think.
Why does that affect my ability to
Think
Speak
Stand
Walk.
It impairs my mind.
It penetrates my already thin skin
Attacking my brain
And telling me
They are laughing at me
They are looking at me.
They are judging me.
They hate me.
They want me dead.
Want me dead.
Me dead.
Dead.
I should give them what they want.
Maybe then, they will like me.
That's all I wanted.
I look in the mirror and
Laugh with them
Judge myself with them
Hate myself with them.
I want myself dead,
Just like them.
Anxiety is going to ******* **** me.

Throw your insults at me like I am being ******.
Don't expect someone to jump in.
Long ago, I was disowned.
No one will ask how I am or have been.

I stand in the middle of the town circle.
The whole town stares at me, aiming their rocks.
At me, they all shout and call.
This whole situation is somewhat of a paradox.

If it were one of them up here,
they would scream for help.
They would want to disappear.
Just like I, they would scream and whelp.

But since it isn't them needing someone,
they are hiding behind a huge mask.
I have literally no one.
Alienation is a hard enough task.

So why come after me?
What did I do?
I'd be much happier alone and hanging from a tree
rather than being the main attraction at the zoo.

It was almost like you were ripping my heart out for your own pleasure.
You easily reached inside of my chest,
through skin and muscle,
snaking my hand through the cracks in my rib cage
and tested the strong muscle.

You held on and help it beat.
But then you got bored with going with the flow of my heart.
You poked and prodded
to see how much damage you could do.
I let you.

You took the muscle out of my chest
and then went wild to ruin my heart.
You returned it back in pieces.
Carefully,
you set it in my chest.

Now,
I lay in the corner.
Tears stained my soul
but a smile appears on my face
and the words "I'm fine" tumble out of my mouth.

I'm not okay.
I need help.
I don't want to be here.
I want to be in your arms again.
I was fine then.

Scars line my thighs and wrists.
Pill bottles lay inside my sock drawer hiding.
Sleep never comes.
Tears start to stain my face.
"I'm fine"

It's too late now.

I feel like a rope
at a family reunion.
Mom's side of the family is here
and so is dads.

I am the old useless rope
only used for tug of the war.
They finally see me and then
they decide to use me for their fun.

I am the rope that is tugged on.
Mom's side of the family on the right
Dad's on the left.
They get situated and start the game.
They pull and pull.

I am the rope they "fight" for
even though I am useless.
The fight for me but not actually for me.
They fight for me for them.

Who is going to win?
Who is the stronger parent?
Who will take me at the end of the day.
Pull, pull, pull.

I am yanked back and forth.
No one ever willing to give up
They can't except that I can only
stretch so far; barely at all.

Pull, yank, tug.
Who has won?
No one?
Keep pulling, yanking, and tugging.
We must win her.

The rope snaps
I break.
There is no longer a rope.
Mom's side falls and so does dad's.

They look and see the rope, shocked
that something that was once there
was no longer there,
but dead and now actually as useless as an old rope

I’d much rather listen to the beautiful songs
birds sing to the world than sing one myself.
For, you see, my voice is quiet and timid.
Rather than seek my opinion,
I pursue others.

Myself is the last to think of;
others are much more important.
Whether it is their opinion
Or physical fancy.

Emotions are always there
when I don’t want them to be.
They get in the way and
interfere with my obstacles making me
need a break from all the running.

Other people decide my fate:
What path will I take?
Which is the safest?
Who will be there with me
during my long walk?
Ask them because I have no clue.

Knowledge is important
with every step I take.
What makes up the stepping stones I walk on?
Knowledge is not only the start
but the end, as well.

Connection is important and
though they say that spending time
with others are key,
I’d much rather be reading
a page-turning story
confined to the trees alone.

What is wrong with me?
Why am I important to some
and to others none?
These are questions I cannot answer
but it is the song that I sing--
The Song of Myself.

-Cheyanne Markley

This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me.

I see peers get tormented
and shoved around.
Laughter erupts when a
comment is made about someone.
Nothing is done.

It is seen, but never really stopped.
Take the chance of speaking up
or embarrassment and laughter
pointed your way.
Nothing is done.

Put your backpack on and
leave, running for the exit as
people eyes walking on your back.
Do you feel the ghost of their eyes?
Nothing is done.

Was it worth it standing up for
that one person because it made
you feel better by helping them?
It should but sadly
most people never experience because
Nothing is ever done.

-Cheyanne Markley

I took a deep breathe
And counted to three
And picture a picture of who
they wanted me to be

They wanted me to be normal
Beautiful and confined
They never thought
That i would be blind

Not blind by meaning
Blind by in the heart
Blinded by the darkness
Blinded by dark

I walk around lifeless
My heart beat is dead
A walking corpse
I am lost in the head

Everything has no meaning
Well at least no more
I was not how i was,
How i was once before

I was one of the living
But now one of the dead
A part of me is missing
Im hanging on by a thread

I hung my head low
Took one final bow
I stepped off my edge
Said my final vow

“ I will not change who i am.
As hard as any of you try,
This is me giving up
This is my saying
goodbye….