"she's a simple girl"
they say about me
judging me upon
my plain clothes,
and even plainer face

"she's a simple girl"
they say about me
judging me upon
my lack of words
regarding frivolous topics
hair, make-up,
who's dating who

"she's a simple girl"
they say about me
judging me upon
the fact that i'd rather stay in
with a book curled up in bed
as opposed to a wild night out
downing glasses of God knows what

but would they invest the effort
and just a little bit of their time
to try and understand
the complexities of my mind
the ideas
the perspectives,
the roads less traveled

would they ask me what i am passionate about
they would receive not a few words
but uncountable volumes full of my greatest dreams
and most sacred desires

ask me what i love and i will tell you
about how deeply i care for the concept of community
humanitarianism, how my biggest dream
is to bring people together

if they saw the thoughts which keep me up all night
how was i created? why was i created?
why me? why not?
my purpose and philosophy of life?
to be, or not to be?
who? what? where? why?

if only they tried to look beyond the surface
and dive in deep
they would realize that i am no shallow pond
but a raging deep ocean
full of emotion and thought
belief, and purpose.

i am a simple girl* when it comes to matters of materialism
i am a simple girl when it comes to speaking my mind
i am a simple girl when it comes to my lack of interest in manipulation, mind-games and gossip

i am a simple girl
until you stop judging me for what you see
&
*begin understanding me for who i am

he can't tell
that she's been crying
while she promises him
she's "fine"
he can't tell
that she's slowly dying
when she tells him
"everything's alright"

you'll lose her
she's fading
this won't last long
you'll be left
empty handed
wondering
where you went wrong
by that time
it'll be
too late
she'll be
*gone.

Stop cutting.

I get it, life hurts.

You want to feel, something.

You would rather watch your own blood seep out of your body from a self inflicted wound, than experience the hurt you have inside.

I get it. Stop cutting.

You choose to hurt yourself because you are overwhelmed by the pain you have caused another person, even if it was unintentional. The thought of that person whom you have such strong feelings for, suffering because of your actions or in-actions, is almost unbearable.

I get it. Stop cutting.

You don't know what to make of your situation. You don't know how a person like you could end up in such a ****** up scene. You feel stuck, lost.

I get it. I do.
Stop cutting.

Your parents ****. They don't understand the kind of **** you are going through. Sure they were kids once but that was different. Things were different back then. They don't get you and they probably never will. They don't care.

I get it. Stop cutting.

You really want to hurt yourself because you get off on the pain. You want it. You need it. You deserve it. You were put on this earth to suffer and you accept your role as martyr.

I get it. Truly, I do.
Stop cutting.

You need some sort of release. Something, anything. Anything but the consuming black,
nothing. The sweet release that only a razor can provide is the only thing that seems real to you amidst all of the drama.

I get it.
Stop cutting.



There is chaos in your life and the secret solitude provided by your ritual seems like an oasis.

I get it. Stop cutting.

You like the way your skin splits open.  You like the way you can touch the cuts underneath your clothes. You like the way the scars remind you.

I get it.
Stop cutting.

The love of your life has abandoned you, leaving a void that nobody will ever fill. Ever.
You are completely and utterly alone.

Life *****.

I get it.

You however, are beautiful,
inside and out,
scars and everything,
and you are not as alone as you think.


Please,
Please,
Please,
Stop cutting.

is like sun-drenched empathy canvassed on the back of wildflowers