The voice told her to **** herself.

Now this voice never came from any other person, no , we all know it came from deep in herself; in her mind. But that voice did not plant itself there on its own. The others around who spread their hate for everything  seeped into her skin slowly and made her think she was not beautiful. It was they who planted the seed.

The voice told her she did it all wrong.

She was never truly wrong though it was those who accused her of wrong-doings who where wrong. They took the gun and handed it to her;  pushing her into a locked bathroom.

The voice said she wasn't worth it.

She was worth every second. Though its hard to feel that way when they don't give you attention and when you finally gain it, they blame you.

They made her feel like she wasn't needed here, that  she was wrong.
The voice in her head pushed her over the edge because she could no longer escape them in her own mind. So, when the voice told her to **** herself.


She did.

Reciting a poem is like singing a song
but you're not judged on what notes you can reach
but on how your message
reach out to people