I almost wish you followed her.
Because then it would hurt
And I'd get over it
And we'd go back to being friends
But I'd be right.

I almost wish you followed her.
Because then you'd have fun
And I'd be fine
And we'd go back to being friends
But you'd be free.

I almost wish you followed her.
Because then I won't let you down
And you'd get over it
And we'd go back to being friends
But I'd be in the clear.

I almost wish you followed her, because it would be your fault and I won't be the one who hurt you.

But you didn't.
Because you don't need other girls
Because you have your own girl
Because you think you love me
Because you say I'm perfect
Because you have me.
So you didn't.

She collects shiny objects
And lurks in the dark

Flightless and alone
She stares at her collection
Wondering which one is her most prized possession

Crying out into the night
Cold and desperate
She decides to examine each object more closely
And let them examine her skin
In order to determine her favourite.

You'll be the alcohol that I can't get enough of. Burning, warm, addictive.

And I'll be the candy that always leaves you wanting more. Sweet, fleeting, and never enough.

Be as weary of Perfection as She is of You.


She'll become a craving, a need, a drug.

It starts off slow, until you get a taste.

Dark, inevitable, curious and sloppy; You get your first taste of Her. Casual and carefree, sloppy and fluid.
Blissful.

It picks up momentum when you go back.

Hopeful, deliberated, secondguessed and spontaneous; You get your second taste of Her. Slow and careful, foreign and desired.
Blissful.

It gathers speed when you stumble back.

Wanted, craved, longed for and dreamed about; You get your third taste of Her. Rushed and impulsive, lust-filled and needy.
Blissful.

It goes downhill when you are already waiting.

Anticipated, eager, excited and anxious; You get your fourth taste of Her. Explosive and passionate, raw and craved.
Blissful.

Gaining momentum and escalating further when you do not leave.

Built-up, painful, needed and difficult.
You get your fifth taste of Her. Rough and sharp, painful and needed.
Blissful.

Now you have the taste and it's no longer controlled.

Dangerous, destructive, unsustainable and fascinating. You want more of Her. Curious and captivating, different and the exception.
Blissful.

Inevitable in its destruction and absence when you fall.

Poisonous, addictive, toxic and intoxicating. You need Her. Craved and harmful, exciting and deadly.
Blissful?


Be as weary of Perfection as She is of you.

Your quick kiss is what I've been waiting for. Longing for. Lusting for.
The icy feeling pressed against my skin, sharp and needy.

I know you're no good for me, I tried to stay away. But the desire was too strong. The need.

It's been building for a long time. I needed release.
No more foreplay, I wanted to go all the way.

And I did. I finally gathered the courage, and I am enjoying the blissful aftermath.

I feel that if our relationship were w video game
We had reached a check point.
And continued to strive further
But then yesterday killed you for a moment and set you back to the last saved point.

my bed haunts me
not because you're not in it
but because it brings back the memories of when you were...
your hand gently over mine as We held each other
your chest pressed against my back as We moulded as One
your feet entwined with mine as We grew closer
and eventually,
your lips against mine as We reinforced the Shared words
**i love you

Attention
Affection

These are the things She strives for

Perfection to get attention to gain affection

But what is perfection?
She starves so She can be skinny, even when She's told She has a **** body
She cuts to punish Herself for eating, yet sees Her scars as imperfections
She puts on make up so She can be pretty, even though She is told She is beautiful
She straightens Her hair to look perfect, even though She is told She looks pretty anyway.

When will She be perfect?

She dresses up,
dumbes it down,
changes Herself
but is let down.

When will She be perfect?

She tries to capture the attention of men and and gain their affection,
But shys away from affection, emotion and the human touch.

When will She be perfect?*

Maybe She will be perfect when she changes Her definition of 'perfection'

wrap me in Your dark embrace
pull me close
kiss my neck
my wrists
my scars.

make me fall for You
when i've got the noose around my neck.

people are scared of you
but i don't fear you any more
our late night meetings have got me aquatinted with you
You're always there for me
even in my shadows absence

You overwhelm me
take my breath away
make my hear skip a beat
or stop beating all together

We have a date
and i'm counting down the days until i finally meet you
all the teasing
taunting
half meeting
i will be with You
we will be one.

take me away with You
forever
my love
let us live in our kingdom

The empty space on my bed where you should be is occupied only by the thought of you

The empty curve of my waist where your arm should be resting is filled only by the desire for it to be there

The empty space between my fingers where yours should be entwined with mine is occupied only by the thought of it happening

The empty feeling of my lips without the company of yours is filled with the impossible wish

the most ancient reason there is.

we do things in order to gain approval
or avoid judgement.

we will wear masks to hide our faces, thoughts, and personalities, to shield that which we think will be judged, in order to gain acceptance.

we will do things, say things, and even be things to gain approval, even if we disapprove of it.  

we are the fake at generation, ruled by fear and raised to be rebels.

my mask is a ***** who over estimates herself and doesn't care about others and never gets scared.
But how long can one stay in character, before they become the character...
and aren't they one in the same...

the best lies are based on the most truth.
therefore the masks we wear and the facades we create that earn us the approval and exile us from judgement, are the most believeable lies, which shows that the character, scriptwriter and actor are all the same.


so just how fake are we...?

I feel so abandoned and alone
I'm losing my heart, I'm losing my home.

I feel so abandoned in the dark.
I feel like an old swing set in a park.

My purpose is to raise others from the ground,
Lift them up and swing them 'round.
.
I'm there for their entertainment and fun,
Until they run of with the sun.

Then I am so abandoned in the park.

to look forward to with desire and reasonable confidence.*

I wasn't hopeful. I was stupid. But they are the same thing.

To hope isn't a good thing. It is stupid. It is only setting yourself up for disappointment.

To hope isn't to look forward to something. It's stupid. It's to be let down when that 'something' falls through.

And I was hopeful. I was stupid. I am disappointed.

Now I want to find out yours.

I want to know the story behind every cut and scar, as I kiss your forearms.

I want to know what you love, as I trace my finger tips over every part of your body.

I want to hear your secrets murmured just for me, with my lips pressed to your neck.

I want to find out your dreams, while I send you to sleep.

I want to make you never want to die, as I hug you for the first time.

I've told you mine, now will you share yours with me...

I want your fingers to kiss my skin, like a pianists kiss the keys

I want your lips to explore mine like music explores the air

I want your body to press against mine like the musicians foot against the pedal

I want us to work together like string and damper

I want to feel your presence like a song stuck on my head

I want to be your everything like music is so me.

Second choice
Backup plan
*******
When all else fails

They are all the same thing.
They are all Me.

I want the last thing I see to be the thick, dark, liquid life that is my blood, being pumped out of my body as I stumble into isolation to die.

I want to feel the quick, sharp, searing pain of the cut, before it escalates onto the buzz, as I drag the blade as swiftly up my wrist as a bird of prey catches its food.

I want my vision to blur, and my head to pound as the lack of blood in my body attempts to keep me alive, as I walk away from everything.

I want to feel the tears slipping down my cheeks to join with the blood pooling, the perfect coushining for my death bed.

I want to attempt to croak out one last apology as I crumple on the floor, to have my final minutes in pain.

I want to be conscious until the life is finally freed from captivity in my body, not passed out in a pathetic attempt to save myself.

I want to rip my skin apart and destroy my cage as my breath escapes to fly with the birds as my being slips away forever.

I want to be reduced to dust and set free
Finally free of the boundaries life and mortality placed on me.

I can see them in my mind.
I can see the picture of these hideous creatures standing in my room.
They're all smiling at me.
They're as dark as the room around me
Lacking the same amount of light as my soul.
They are friendly.
They are the only ones actually here.
Everyone else has got their own lives to deal with.
But these guys?
Their lives are centered around me.
But the way I imagine they look must har stemmed from somewhere, right?
The image I have of them came from the way try act.
I picture them as clawed beings with razor fingers that kiss every part of me
Leaving scars and reminders of our relationship.
I see them as cloaked figures
With long looped rope clothing them
The nooses that they wrap around me to comfort me.
I see them as thoughtful creatures
The ones who plant that seed in my mind of cut cut cut
**** **** ****.
see these creatures smiling
As everyone will be when I am dead.
These creatures call me to them
At night
When they blend in
And won't be judged by others.
These creatures are my friends because I am just as ugly as them
And have done everything they have done to me.

The numbness gave way to pain
Leaving me wanting to hurt myself again.

Engulfed by the darkness
Or lack of life
My shadow has deserted me
And my demons have gifted me with a knife.

I don't want to cut
Or obey
I don't want to hurt
Or do what they say

They want me to burn
And cry
And break down
Leaving the pieces- a million and one

I don't want to leave the people I love
Or sacrifice the oppertunity to rise above
I don't want to die tonight
But they want me to.

I'm out numbered
By more-than-I-can-count to one.
And there are enough of them to block out the sun
And destroy my light.

They come bearing gifts
Of thoughts and feelings
The ones I cast aside
Along with t demons

But they raised hell
And brought an army
They're here to ruin me
And **** me

They sent my shadow away
And none of my friends are here to stay.
They've come to unleash their wrath
And keep the numbness at bay

My demons are here to choke the happiness out of me
Starve me of optimism
Bleed me dry of happiness
And drown me in sorrow

They're here to make up for lost time
They won't waste a moment
They're moving in for the ****
And I'll die without my motivation or will

If you were a cigarette
I'd be the lighter.
The flames that rip through your body
Destroy you completely
Burns you to the core
And leaves you as nothing

The smoke will be the memory of us
Passed on and second hand to fade away as quickly as it came to be.

If you were a cigarette
I'd be a lighter
Erupting with danger
Causing pain at the touch
And going along with anyone who takes a fancy to what they see on the surface
Anyone who pockets me
Ready to burn the life out of more cigarettes
More like you
And lose a little of myself in the process.

We will sit
We will talk
We will laugh
We will cry

We will cut
We will burn
We will drink
We will starve

We will think
We will share
We will feel
We will trust

We will compare
We will harm
We will swap
We will injure

Let your blood poision mine
And mine to the same to yours
Let me dilute the effects of the alcohol with my own poinsion
Let you share the effects of the drink and get me drunk on your love

Let us rant
Let us feel
Let us rage
Let us vent

Let us breathe
Let us survive
Let us dig
Let us live

Let us bound
Let us leap
Let us soar
Let us fly

The way her eyes portray so much and are so deep, so beautiful and so captivating

Infatuation makes you lose sense.

The curve of her waist that leads to her hips enchants and intices me

Infatuation makes you lose sense.

The shape of her lips invite me and excite me

Infatuation makes you lose sense.

The ***** of her neck to her chest to her breast intrigues me and causes me to long to explore it with my lips

Infatuation makes you lose sense.

Her being is vivacious

*Infatuation makes you lose sense

Fear or rejection risks perfection.
One can be so confident
Or unconfident
Perfectly imperfect in someone's eyes
But they will not put anything on the line to get what they want.

Avoiding the risk of failure and potentially deprive you of happiness later.
If you're too scared to put yourself out there and take it as it comes
Then maybe you're not able to handle either outcome.

No risk, no reward
If you don't take the leap you won't have the oppertunity to fly like a bird
If the response truly meant enough to you, it would outweigh the fear and you would follow through.

If you're asking me what to do, that means you need instructions on how to follow through
If you need guidance on this I don't believe it means that much to you.

Words never seem to suffice when feelings are involved
My tongue ties in knots even a scout would walk away from when emotions get mixed in

I'm either detached
Or over attached

I'm scared or angry or sad
I want to comfort you and make you joyous and happy

My factory setting is numb and I revert to that when I have to be objective or help people

When you open your heart I close mine because that is my default reaction

Claw at me
Scratch me
Bite me
To open my heart

Kiss me
Love me
Comfort me
To clear the numbness

Break my bad habits
Not my heart.

When you fix your heart with pieces of others whole heart
You're left with a bigger hole when they inevitably leave.

When you try heal your cuts with others kisses
You bleed more in the absence of their lips.

When you cover up your scars with love and tender words
You rip them open again when the love vanishes and the tenderness subsides.

The moral of the story is to never put yourself together with parts of someone else
Because you'll be left to pick up the broken pieces when everyone inevitably leaves.

Help me find a reason not to give up.
Help me find a reason to actually give a ****.

Don't tell me it gets worse before it gets better, because every time I hit rock bottom I start digging six feet under.

Help me see the light again
Help me see through all my pain

Don't tell me others have it worse because I know that I have no right to be sad but I didn't ask for this curse.

Help me stand up when I get knocked down
Help me support myself when I'm on shaky ground.

Don't tell me my scars mean I've been through hell and survived and that I'm strong enough to carry on, because I believe that I deserve nothing but to die.

Help me learn to love me as I am
Help me not to change my life to fit someone else's plan

I am scarred.
That is who I am.
I'm a F R E A K
         A
  B  I  T C H

WEAK

And I always will be.
Because even if those words fade from my skin
They will never fade from my heart or mind.

All the tines I tried to fix myself by breaking my skin
All the times I tried to repeat myself by tearing my flesh
All the times I tried to get a high by putting myself down
Are etched on my skin

And that is who I am.  

I am scarred.
Not because of what everyone else did,
But because of the way I dealt with it.
That is why I haven't been scarred
I am Scarred.

No one notices, until she tells them.
No one cares until it affects them.

She's falling apart
She's crying
She's begging you
She's on the edge
She's about to give up
She's in too deep
She's drowning in her tears
She's sad
She's getting bad again
She needs you.

But you won't notice until you read this.
And no one will care until it affects them.

Its just something she does. She gets like that.
She will over think and make herself unnecessarily anxious. She might even make herself sick.
She will hate herself and think she is hideous. She might even punish herself for it.
She will freak out and stress herself out so much. She might even work herself to tears.
She will get so bad she can't control when she feels or when she's numb. She might even bring me back.

I freak her out
I make her forget
I control her.
But I'm not real and she knows that.
She just pretends to get a distraction.
I'm not real.
**She's the monster.

"Your mom got ****** and said 'oh ****' there's you for an ugly daughter."
"you're more of a man than anyone could be"
"******* ****"
"I hate you"*

i look at myself in the mirror for one last time.
i recall those words, those insults you used to chime.

walking away from my reflection, while a tear rolls down my cheek
i cannot help but to think of all the times i used to be so weak.

crossing the room as i gather up my strength
to breathe deep my final breath.

reaching my destination
I pick up the gun in anticipation

putting my finger on the trigger and the muzzle to my head
i  try not to think about what it's like to be dead.

i close my eyes, whisper a silent goodbye
as the breath leaves my body and I become lifeless and die.

Changing, turning over a new leaf
Isn't always for the best.

I changed dramatically since I started highschool and have been growing into that new person
Excruciatingly slowly
I've been learning to accept used a I am
Micrometer by micrometer

But then you just swoop in
Take me back to everything I was in grade 8
Naive
Easy to hurt
A push over
Sad
A cutter...

Yes. One person managed to ruin me.
In two days.

And I don't know how to revive myself from this

What happened to that adorable  little girl?
The one with the outrageously curly hair,
That girl who would always be smiling
And never wearing clothes,
That little girl who never spoke for herself,
But always ordered black currant juice or ice cream,
The one who'd follow anyone who smiled at her,
The girl who was as sweet as all the sugar she consumed,
The one who refused to go to school but had water fights instead.
What happened?


What happened to that cute kid,
Who loved her family,
And would always play games,
The one who loved being outside,
And thought that showering wasted too much time because there was so much to do.
That girl that did everything and anything her sister told her to.
The child that played dress up,
Loved pink,
And ran around in dresses.
What happened to that girl that was popular,
Loved by almost everyone ,
The kind child that had loads of friends.
What happened?

What happened?


What happened is that I killed her.
Every time I insulted her
A part of her died.
Every time I compared her to her sister,
Every time I told her she was alone,
Every time I made her feel lonely,
Every time I made her feel unloved,
Every time I told her that no one cares,
Everytime I told her everyone leaves,
Everytime I isolated her,
Everytime I made her feel hopeless,
Everytime I gave her a reason to regret ,the beginning of a new day,
I killed a part of her.
Everytime I cut her
I tore away a piece of her soul.
And when I tried to **** her, I finally murdered that child.

That girl I used to be died the moment I put my thoughts into actions.
She's dead.
And it's my fault.

This is my confession statement.
I fantasize abou torture and killing
How to cover it up
Where the best place for ****** is
How to have the least witnesses
Ways to avoid emotional damage of the people who see the bodies.

Now for the confession.
I have tried to ****.
More than once.
I make people cry.
I torture.

It's story time.
Here's some background.
There is this girl. She's the ugliest thing on this planet, and she's overweight. She has no friends and used to be a complete loner.

And I found my love and addiction to torture through her. I would cut her. I would take my knives and drag them across her skin. Sometimes over and over and over again in the same wound.
She will never forget me or what she is. I made permanently sure.

Now comes the interesting part. Her existence welcomed me into the darkness of her heart.
I didn't always hate her.
There was some part of me still left that didn't have the heart to put all my effort into killing her. For a while.
I started to like it though.
I attempted and pretended to **** her a lot. More times than I can count on two hands. And I liked it. I scared her so much and I helped teach her her worthlessness. I helped open her eyes to how terrible she is.
And here's a secret. I made her love those headaches she got from lack of oxygen she got when I would tighten the noose around her neck.
I made her beg for death but took away her oppertunity.
I hit, punched, sleep deprived, cut, burned, carved, scratched, pulled out hair, force fed pills, mentally tortured and oxygent deprived this stupid, ugly, useless, unwanted, weak, pathetic girl.
However, I never fully followed through.
Which is why I can write this.

In a world of male vs. female
brain vs. brawn
good vs. evil
heaven vs. hell
skinny vs. fat
***** vs. player
pretty vs. ugly
popular vs. loner
How are you supposed to find yourself.
Society puts out so many labels and stereotypes
Demand you join one
(Heaven help you if you pic conflicting catagories)
And then judges you either way.

If you're a girl
You're too masculine if your strong
You're too Girly if you're weak
You're pretty if you have long hair
You're lesbian if you have short hair
You're a **** if you have revealing clothing
You're a nun if you cover up
And so on.

If you're a guy you're popular of you're strong
You're gay if you're weak
You're unattractive if you're skinny
You're perfect if you're ripped
You're a player if you get with more than one girl
You're pathetic if you haven't even kissed someone

In a world of double standards
You're expected to be badass
Popular
Weird
Emo
Reject
Wanna be
Cool
Druggies
Smokers
Saints
*****
*****
******
Nerd
****

How are you supposed to choose ?
Heaven forbid you're smart and ripped
Heaven forbid you're skinny and a ******
Heaven forbid you're popular and 'Emo''
Heaven forbid you're badass and nerdy


You're told to make your own choices and just be who you are
But then you are judged
Ridiculed
Put down
Bullied
Excludes
Rejected
Neglected
Offended
By being who you are.
To the point where you are being told to and forced to change so much that you lose who you originally were
You second guess every choice you've made since thy lead you to who you are today
And you always feel like you should be something wake to the point where you have no idea anymore how to even catagories yourself.

In a world of double standards
Judgment
And today's society
Finding who you are and making your own path and controlling your life is the biggest challenge of all.

My thoughts are like a river
Flowing through what used to be my soul.

My thoughts drown rational feeling
Or any decent emotion.

My thoughts war goodbye to the beach as they drag my good mood into the cold, dark depths of them.

My thoughts cause the same amout of trauma as a near-drowning.

My thoughts are sometimes still and transparent
Showcasing the horrors they hide

My thoughts at other times dark and murky
Ugly and sinister
Concealing the awfulness beneath its surface
Waiting to surprise you

My thoughts look inviting at times
Refreshing
But My Thoughts are a dangerous weapon to the unsuspecting
And the most common one can **** me as easily as drowning in my swimming pool.

You toy with my feelings
And play with my mind.
Make me believe you left me behind.

Eye will count two ten
You hide until then.
Eye will start two search four you, but don't tell me when.

Or maybe play hop scotch
Trample all over my feelings while they watch
Raise the standard up a notch.

How about we run around each other
Two everyone else it's obvious we want one another
But you'll conceal it from me, keep it under cover.

You want two play jump rope
Repeatedly jumping all over my hope
Yet eye am expected to cope.

So lets play a game.
You'll kiss me and whisper my name
Then you'll leave me and make me go insane.

Does this game seem fun to you?
Because this is what you put me though.

I am not numb
For numb is having emotions too much to bare
Too complicated to sift through
Too tangle up to sort out
Too overwhelming to rise above
That everything just merges into nothing.

Robotics
Mechanics
Manic antics.
No longer unmotivated
No longer too scared to try
No longer too pained to care
No longer too hurt to love.
The threads you were hanging on by we're annihalated.
But you're not falling
Or panicking
Or soaring
Or dying
You're just existing.
Going through the motions of the decent or the flight.
Taking everything in your stride.
Not faltering
Not altering the way you do things.
Everything is transformed
Emotion feels nonexistent
And thoughts become frail.

But my days are numbered.
Not because I can't feel
Or won't feel
But because everything is mediocre.
Soaring is going up
Plummeting is going down
Rising above the **** is up
Being in he'll is going down
Torture is annoying pain
Euphoria is mild joyfulness
Depression is a shadow
Love is a fleck of light
Being haunted is remembering
Thoughts are just there
And my existence is passing me by.

My days are numbered
Because my torturous reward is this cage.
This daze
This haze
This maze of feelings
Impossible to navigate when everything is foggy.

My days are numbered
Because when you push something so far away
You're just giving it momentum to hit monumentally harder.  
And I can't escape this daze
But when I'm released...
I fear the outcome.

There will always be someone more important.
With parents it's always the first born.
With siblings it's always friends.
With friends it's always  partners.
With partners.... Well , I wouldn't know. I've never had one.

There is always someone more important than me.
And this is what I'll never say out loud,
Or to your face,
Because its too selfish.
I'm too selfish.
But with R.H there's S,
With C.G there's M,
With Z. D/K there's J,
With B.H it's  A,
With M.H it's  L,
With K.H it's Him,
With K.A it's himself.
With A.T it's others.
With me? I don't know.
With me it's You. It's Him. It's Them. It's anyone but myself.  

It is a selfish thought
A selfish feeling,
But I am a selfish being.
The point is. That I feel unimportant.
You tell me you love me. You tell me I'm important.
But no matter how much you say it
you love her more. She is more important.
There will always be another that is valued above me. Valued above all. And it will never be me.

And that destroys me.

That is why I always bring up our girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or person you're always with. Or person you're always talking about.
I rub it in my face.
I make sure that I know
At most
I'm second best.

*There is *always more.

Hi Classified*

I drank again. A few weeks ago. I thought I could control it. It helped.
But I loved it. It felt good to be drinking again.
But it's not just any drink. It's a specific red wine.
I was drinking up until about a week ago, but I thought someone was on to my habit , so I slowed down.
Now its nothing, just a sip every now and again, reminding me that there is always the drink. it will never leave. It's reliable
But then I remembered that there was this drink that I got into a while back. It was a whiskey. It burned me, but i liked it
And today a friend of mine gave me some. Put the bottle in my hand. And I didn't mean to. But I drank some of it. Just a tiny bit. And it burned and reminded me how much I like it
And that is my story.

*Claps

Why do you write?
i write because it helps me get to know myself better and understand what is going on in my head, what I'm feeling and how to get through it. It helps me figure out how to deal with my desires and secrets
-shrug- boredom

Why do you think so badly about yourself?
because its true and I'm awful and horrible and rude and violet and unlovable and unaffectionate and mean and spiteful and ****** and hideous
i just do

I love you
i love you too, but you'll leave and I can't tell you how I feel and maybe I'm reading too much into it and maybe you don't mean it in the way I interpret it and you'll move on and get over it and no one can ever love me, it's not true
**thanks

It's such a personal word
We all cry differently
At different times
With different thoughts
And we all draw different reactions when we cry
We all have different perceptions of crying

Crying doesn't always mean tears
You can cry out someone's name in a moment of passion , or pain, or rage
You can let tears slide down your face in a moment of happiness, sadness, or pain

When I cry
I show my faults
And my weaknesses
I show how easy it is to break me
And how easily I get hurt.

So I refuse to cry.
I wish I couldn't cry.
And right now, I wish I would die.

Tattoos are personal expression
My body
My rules
My ink

I told you I trusted you
I told you I loved you
I told you I care
I told you I try to help
I told you I believe you

You told me you loved me
You told me you cared
You told me to trust you
You told me I was important
You told me you would never intentionally hurt me

And I was stupid enough to believe it all.

You asked me do I hate you
You asked me do I believe you
You asked me why I trust you

What was your intention ?

When I answered
No
Yes
Yes

What was your intention

Did you aim to make me hate you
Did you try to make me disbelieving
Did you want to break my trust in you

What was your intention

I told you to hurt me.
You said no
No
No
No
No
No
NO

What was your intention

I dared you to hurt me
And you said you would never intentionally hurt me

What was your intention

And then you did
And you told me it was intentional

What was your intention

What the **** do you want from me??!
What the **** do you want me to do??!
What the **** was I thinking??!
What the **** was your intention??!

I am not who I seem
I will never be that girl from your dream.

If you start to care
You'll see what isn't there
You will see past that girl who wears black and scowled at pink and dresses
Wants to be a rebel
Wants to be a badass
Wants to be cool
You will learn to see past that exterior
You will know I'm not all attitude and insults
You will realize that that girl who cusses and fights isn't all there is

Then maybe you'll see deeper.
There's another girl
One who wants to dress up
Feel pretty
Wants to be a princess
Someone who wants to be like the people she admires
A little girl who wants to be cute with a guy
Someone who wants to skip around and be one of those lead people in the movies
Someone who cares
Loves
Laughs
Appreciates beauty in butterflies
Tries to help her friends
Loves very easily and quickly
Deep down you'll see that I'm actually a fragile softie who cares too quickly
Gets hurt too easily
And apologizes too much.

Even below that is the person who is unhappy
The one who is self hate
Stupidity
Recklessness
Self-destruction
The little sad girl that slits her skin and cries herself to sleep

But maybe I you manage to survive all that without letting all my **** destroy you (like it has so many others)
Then maybe
Just maybe
You'll get to meet Them
The part of me that created the 5 minute death game
The part that looked up how to tie a noose
And the one that collects pills
The self torturous part
Not just the fel pitying part

And then maybe if you manage to get through all of that you will find my heart
Cut up
Shattered
Bruised
Scarred
Stitched
And infected
Chained to the walls I build around myself
Pulling me apart
The heart that has bullet holes and battle wounds
The one leaving blood stains on what was my soul
The black mass of hell that is at the center of my being.
An if you're stupid enough, you'll make me love you.

What upset you?
That He chose Her over You?

                          No.

What upset you      is
That He will never have to chose between Her and You
Because
You
  are
   so
    Ugly
     Stupid
      Repulsive
       Annoying
        Pointless
         Worthless
          Unwanted
           Unnecessary
            Space waster
             Good for nothing
               Disgrace of humanity
That no one would every chose you
Especially not when given an option
  as amazing as Her
        
        And no one half as brilliant as
     He is would ever look at you
        twice


Him being nice to you means nothing - he is a kind person
You being there for Him means nothing - you were the only one online
Her being with Him means everything - he really likes her


So what upset you?
The fact that you're not worth so much as knowing your name,
   let alone choosing over someone
   else.

you're going to cry yourself to sleep tonight
               That is what they tell me
                                    what I tell me
I know.
                     I reply to them
                                       to me
why will you cry?
  because you're alone?
    because you're lonely?
      because you're pathetic?
        because you're worthless?
          because you're not enough?
            because* no one wants you?
They taunt
                   ask
                         mock
                                   I taunt
                                               ask
                                                      mock