Where is my little angel at this very night?
Cold and lonely by the bedside, wish she could take a bite
Bad girl! How could you?!
Give up on what you worked for?
Now we have to start over, once more.
My little angel, listen to me.
I will help you strive to become the person
Your mom seeks you to be.
Wouldn't want to make her upset, would we?
Perfection is key.
Make them proud.
Keep them happy.
My little angel, we can do this.
Sleep now and remember I will be in your dreams.
Till you come to me.

When you close your eyes.
Do you see color?
Some say no.
Because of the intensity in the darkness.
But, if you actually took the time to think about it.
Your eyes search for the light.
The smallest amount takes over and creates vibrant and wonderful colors.
Purples and light blue spread across the eyelid.
Sometimes orange and yellow.
It opens like flowers blooming, or when the sun comes out from hiding behind the cloud.
Maybe that is what we see in our dreams.
The memory of color exfoliates our brains.
Enhancing the dream to become somewhat realistic.
Yet we do not grasp it all, because of its grandeur.

i am slowly dying
fading away
giving up
giving in

my face against the mirror
i feel like i have died
a silent scream
i have to go
its time for me to fly

anorexia and binge eating disorder
depression and OCD
reactive attachment disorder
sexually assaulted
sensory processing disorder
suicidal
abused
neglected
hostile
resentful toward mother figures
fearful of father figures
cutter
people pleaser
desire to be perfect
high expectations for herself
lost

"im not sure how i am going to help you. but i will do my best" -she says

I live in a prison
My own mind creates the barricade around the room
Closing in and suffocating my only hole of breath
I sit on the cold floor
Giving up on my future
Living in the fear of my past
As it scrapes the last of my existence
Apathy takes over
Numbness bewilders the mind
I accept it
I accept whats coming
Because i honestly don't care anymore.

one left turn and it takes you to my old house.
a right takes you to the police station.
the memory creeps up inside, every time i see the sign
two years. such a short time
yet it feels like yesterday in my mind.
i remember the smells.
the sweat dripping off your body
the dirt from the soil you worked
your hands felt like leather from the labor of your day
your voice soft and gentle, but behind it lay a lier and a demon
creating so many nightmares
so many destroyed memories
broken hearts and dreams
for one little girl
that you chose to touch
you were 35
i was 14

"We don't want her, she's too loud"
"We don't want her, she's too problematic"
"We don't want her, she's too fat"
"We don't want her, she's too *****"
"We don't want her, she's not 'Christian' enough"
"We don't want her, she's too depressed"
"We don't want her, she's not like her sisters"

"We don't want her, she's too smart"
"We don't want her, she's too skinny"
"We don't want her, she's too pretty"

When will I be wanted?