Lost in a world where I found myself.
Adrift in a sea that brought me to my discovery.
Missing from mine own knowledge of myself.

Finding myself in a new, unknown world.
Learning me by learning others.
Discovering my mind in a place I’ve never been before.

Confused when I should know what I am, where I am,
                  who I am.
Disorganized where I should be able to find.
Puzzled with what I should understand.

Not as innocent as once before,
yet just as pure as she’ll ever be.

A kingdom of isolation,
and it looks like I’m the queen.
Standing frozen in the life I’ve chosen,
buried in the snow.

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see.
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal, don’t feel, put on a show.
Make one wrong move and everyone will know.

Oh, I’m such a fool, I can’t be free!
No escape from the storm inside of me.
I can’t control the curse!

I can’t,
I - I don’t know how!

Please, you’ll only make it worse!
There’s so much fear!
You’re not safe here!

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside.
Couldn’t keep it in, Heaven knows I tried.
Can’t hold it back anymore.
Turn my back and slam the door.
I know I left a life behind, but I’m too relieved to grieve.

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see.
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal.
Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know.

Just stay away and you’ll be safe from me.

No!
I—I CAN’T!

The crudeness of their lies is everywhere,
hurts everywhere.
They write best wishes to everyone,
but deliberately put one in the corner.

Their stares bring rain,
and their glares are what welcome her.
There is no warm greeting on the outside of her door.
Open it and find them there.

Her bed tries to bring comfort,
but then another walking stare marches in,
greeting her with a familiar glare,
the one that watches her as she sleeps.

Everywhere she goes, their glares follow.
She tries to walk away, but a stare finds her trail.
She tries to hide, but is always found by a watcher.
She tries to sleep them away, but the glares rip into her dreams.

Their wide eyes are inescapable.
Too many dilated, dark pupils moving as she moves,
dancing to her rhythm, noting all her moves,
spotting all her trips, recording all her falls.

The eyes of them see her discomfort,
and find their own serenity.
These eyes were once welcoming,
now are forever watching, forever following.

I love how you treat me.

It’s how, to you, I must be the earth you walk on,
the earth you spit your gum into.

It’s the way you try to start a fight
with every syllable that comes from my mouth.

I love the way you apologize,
even though we both know it means nothing.

I love how impatient you are with me,
especially when I forget you’re an all-knowing piece of perfection.

It makes me swoon
when you call me stupid to my face.

I fall head over heels
when you question everything I say.

My heart skips a beat whenever you say my name,
and you say it with disgust.

I love when you tell me you care,
and then go out of your way to cause me discomfort.

I love it the most when everything I do
comes in second to whatever you do.

I love how you treat me.

Friendship is a two-way street.
I can't always be there for you
if you're never there for me.

And just because you say you are
doesn't mean a thing:
because when I do, it's never good.

You tell me I'm wrong,
you tell me I'm dumb,
and then you change the subject to you.

Friends have faith in each other,
they doubt none.
But you,

Oh, you are the one full of doubts.
Tell me I can't do it,
or even that you never ever thought I could.

Thanks for the faith,
oh, dearest friend.
You showed me how not to be.

Thank you for your lessons,
I learned so much, indeed.
I will warn the others of your schemes.

I hope your boyfriend treats you well,
because he's all you have now,
now that I am stepping out.

I am stepping out for my own sake,
because you are no good for me.
All you ever did was bring me down.

Just know that I'm done.
Just know that I'm gone.
Just know that I've moved on.

I hope your boyfriend treats you well,
because he's all you'll ever have.
I'm never running back.

It feels like someone took a knife to my back,
and tore open my skin in one, slow motion.

It feels like the person reached into the gaping hole,
and is still pulling on my muscles, my ribs, and my lungs.

The someone is pulling and twisting on my insides,
their big hands attacking me from behind.

The person stops, and my hopes rise.
Then the someone shoves the knife into my open wound.

Twisting and pulling again,
this time with the original offender.

My muscles are angel hair,
covered in my own marinara sauce.

Playing with its food,
the someone twists my strands,

she slices them,
slicing me again.

Soon the whole me
will be bits of me.

As long as she keeps twisting and pulling,
I’ll continue my way to my death bed.

My death bed,
covered in angel hair.

My death bed,
covered in my marinara sauce.