To the outcasts, the freaks
To the silent ones, the unheard
To the criers, the broken
To the heartless, the damaged
To the screamers, the closed off
To the drowners, the dying
To the breathers, the living
To the strong, the weak
To the flimsy, the fragile
To the suicidal, the struggling
To the raging, the bitter
To the sad, the lonely
To the misunderstood, the confused
To the 'why don't you talk,' the 'why don't you shut up?'
To the 'it's all in your head,' the 'It's not important enough'
To the 'stop acting,' the 'stop faking'
To the 'stop being so dramatic,' the 'there are people worse off than you'
To the 'shut up,' the 'you're making no sense'
To the 'I don't understand,' the 'nobody feels this way'
To the 'I can't help you,' the 'get over it'
To the 'you're weird,' the 'this isn't normal'
To the 'go away,' the 'nobody wants you here'
To the 'you break everything you touch,' the 'just die already'
To the 'broken ones,' the 'freaks'
To everyone, to always
To whatever you do, whatever you say
To everything, to everyday
You are not alone.
~ hk

Being born with an abusive family isn’t a fun experience to live through.
You can survive but barely.
It’s like maggots eating away at flesh.
The flesh is your heart.
Maggots are the words.
You can tell me you understand what it’s like.
Do you?
You do?
Tell me how it feels to be put down for being called fat.
Tell me how it feels to be put down for trying to be an influence!
Tell me.
How it feels.
To be put down for who I am by “family”!
You don’t know.

Expressing who I am keeps me calm and secure.
Expressing but then being judged for acting like myself is such a hard feeling to bare.
Tell me what it’s like to lose a friend that you told all your secrets to.
Tell me what it’s like for you to come home to a drunken father.
Tell me what it’s like to come home crying because the kids on the bus made of you for having daddy problems.
Tell me what it’s like to endure physical pain from the inside out.
Tell me what it’s like to come home to your brothers telling you... “Dad’s in the hospital.”
You... do not know.

Depression with anxiety, hurt, and vicious pain are like a mixture of a freshly opened wound and salt.
It stings away at you until you’re no more.
Until you believe that you are worthless.
Until you believe that you can’t go on any further!

Is it right for someone to be discriminated for their color?
Is it right to stand by and listen to **** and suicidal jokes?
I’ve done it.
I’ve stood by because I was too afraid of what they would say to me.
How they would react.
What tiny little things they would use against me.
How does it feel to know how I feel now?
What will you do to me?
Hurt me?
It’s far too late for that.

You didn’t know…
That I have been through so much even though I smile.
That I take everything I have to say and bottle it up inside.
That I have tried to tell you but you just don't understand!

You don’t know what it feels like to be buried in a casket of darkness and fear.
Do you?
You do?
Tell me!
Tell me how it feels when others insult you.
Tell me.
Explain it to me!
Explain what it feels like to be but down for every little minor thing about you!
You… do not … know.

Another day
Another tear
Another night
Another fear
Another struggle
Another fight
As she fought
To defeat the demons inside
Wriggling, gasping
She finally lay still
As the monsters won
Yet another time