I hope you never know how much pain you’ve caused.
I still defend you with my every breath.
The hope I entertained, it now is lost:
All of the hopes of you, I put to death.
There is no reason now for me to stay.
This anger burns hotter than I can scream.
And now, all I wish to do is escape
Because, with you, I cannot feel my dreams.
I longed for what I used to think was real,
But now I know that love is just a lie.
So now I’ll let you go, and I will heal
And wait for someone else to show me why
Love is not wrong, misplaced, or worthless, see—
But love like that can’t happen now for me.

The other day my sister lamented that she did not look like one of those white, blonde, blue-eyed beauties on television.
This struck me for a number of reasons mainly for the fact that we are Indian girls who are neither white, blonde nor blue-eyed and it is physically impossible for us to be like that because it's coded into our genes.
Why then did my sister want to be so much like these beauties that she could never look like.
Why then did my sister want to change herself so much, change they very coding in her genes, change the very fabric of her body?
I was not able to respond to her at the time but this is my response to her.
Society's standards of beauty were created by entrepreneurs looking to make a quick buck.
They market such celebrities as beautiful and, through subliminal messages tell you that if you do not look like them, you are ugly and not worthy.
And it is so easy for them to do this because of the Westernisation of cultures all over the world.
Go to any supermarket and the first things yo will see under the beauty section are bleaching and whitening creams.
It is true that these white, blonde, blue-eyed beauties are stunning, gorgeous.
But why should their beauty mean that you aren't beautiful?
You are the culmination of years of evolution,
the stars have been planning your arrival.
Look at yourself in the mirror,
Stare into the dark brown irises of your eyes and understand that they are like pools of chocolate, understand that they are the colour of the bark of the tress understand that they are beautiful.
Caress your brown hair, run your fingers through it, you are beautiful.
Look at your caramel-coloured skin, don't you just love the colour? It's deep and sweet and beautiful.
Your body, the vessel of your soul in beautiful and every step you take is magical and your voice sounds like a bow playing perfectly on a violin and your laugh ringing out sounds like wind chimes in a light breeze.
Don't you understand?
You are a ******* masterpiece.
Don't treat yourself any less.

I liked you first
when I realized that I wanted to be alone
but not as much as I didn't want you to be

Life ***** like a sponge
When you just can't get it right
And you miss Happy Hour at Sonic.

Me, you and a Saturday
A date you
Promised
I said yes
With a sign off of my
Address
Just to remember
I have to sneak through
My fortress
To be by your side

can you explain something?* why am i not good enough? i know i’m not perfect, but i assumed that you did to. and i know you’re meant to teach me, because thats what parents do. but am i no longer allowed to speak anymore because of my attitude?

So i guess it’s my fault, the reason you come home angry and give me that look at that drop of a pen. And oh my God, that look. If looks could ****, you would have murdered me with nightmares. But I guess i’m supposed to grow up thinking thats what daddies do. Threaten you with eyes, hurt with words,, and deny it when you bring it up, too.

But i guess it’s my fault. I’m the one who “didn’t see” my brothers brain development. Despite the constant warning of your children, your final decision was to deal with it.

But i guess it’s my fault, that when someone says *“your parents raised you well,”

now i have to lie. But i’ll be dammed if i give up and let you raise me.

So it’s my fault, because all these things are true. And the new rule, that only applies to me is “speak when spoken to.” I supposed i raised myself, because wrong and right were always in my mind. True. But mother, with all your excuses for him

**I’m a little hurt by you

i waited for you to see it
i waited for you to care
i waited at your doorstep
to find that you weren't there

i waited for you to hear me
in the deepest parts of my soul
while you waited for me to speak
i waited for you to say so

i waited for you to notice
the smile i'd always fake
i waited for you to see it
i waited til i'd fade

i waited for years and years
for you to look through my lies
i waited for you to see it
everything i'd hide in my eyes

i waited for you to see it
i waited for you to care
i waited at your doorstep
*and found that you moved somewhere

I am a scenery
to be looked at from afar

when you're on a balcony looking out to new york
your eyes immediatly go to the buldings with the pretty lights
not even thinking about whats within them
and you're last glance is to the darkest spots
but if you looked at them closer you'd realize they count the most

and no matter how far to the edge you will be
you'll never be close enough to really look at me
you will never see the inside of my buildings
nor walk the dark spots in the depths of my mind
there was a time when i could call myself beautiful

*just look at all the pretty lights
the billboard saying "be who you wanna be"
but even if you're at the edge of your seats
you'll never get close enough to a scenery