To my future lover,
you will see the marks of hatred.
To my future children,
I will tell the truths of depression.
To my future friends,
you will find me on my failing days.
To my future family,
I will hide my mental illness.
To the future me,
I don’t know what you will be.

On my face a stream of tears,
working to release my biggest fears.

Walking through the pouring rain,
I then release all my pain.

Through all my dreams turned mares,
I work as my mind tries to make repairs.

All the pain brings in hate,
and the self harm starts to dominate.

In the end I am made of evil,
with my soul trying to make a good retrieval.

What do you do when you hate yourself?
Tell yourself that you’re amazing?
Make yourself look pretty?
Create a better you?

What do you do when every fiber of your body wants to die?
Tell yourself that life’s worth living?
Make your mind see the non-logic in dying?
Create a better body?

What do you do when your soul refuses to stay alive?
Tell yourself that the soul isn’t real?
Make your soul into something better?
Create a better soul?

**What do you do when everything in you wants to die?

My parents ask me questions,
“How was therapy?”
“Are you using your skills?”
“How are you doing?”

My parents want the answers,
“It was good, I learned a lot.”
“Yes I am, my urge to cut is going down.”
“I’m doing great, feeling great.”

But the answers I give are silent,
Fine, please don’t ask about it.
No, I feel like a failure when you know I am.
I’m terrible, I hate myself, I want to die.

My parent’s desire is for me to get better.
While I scream inside because face it,
**I’m not.