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My heart dressed in polka dots and dark shades
Hair and hurt sitting on shoulder blades
Across rose-colored skin,
I brush my fingers over bumps and scarred perfection.

Dance with me in a pit of quicksand, rockabilly babe
And help me understand that I don't need to be afraid

We are children with short attention spans
and short term parents,
and it's apparent, in this short span of time,
I love you.
 May 2014 Emily Joyce
Emily Mary
I want to be a poet
I want to paint pictures in people minds
Use my fingers as paintbrushes
The palm of my hand my canvas
I want to be able to trace my words with utensils of artistry
Make tedious muddled letters become beautiful pieces that tumble off the tongue with ease and elegance
-
I've always wanted to be a poet
Ever since I was younger I would create stories
Let me make a memory of when I was just a little girl toppling over piles of crispy brass leaves that daddy raked in piles
Dancing in the rain as it melted my insecurities away from my expanded existence
-
My mother told me I would make a good poet
Look at my master piece mommy
I used to place words upon words telling you that I loved you as much as down comforter kittens or saying you reminded me of pollen covered petals that disembark on my rose flushed cheeks
-
Look mommy I finally wrote you a poem
But you can't read it because I don't need to to hear the wrath of your rage
Terrifying roars flying out of your mouth as if I'm being being pushed off a rocky edge free falling from sandy ridges and broken dreams
Fretting that you'll take it the wrong way but sometimes the wrong way is the right way to make it your way.

But mommy I've decided I am a poet,
my fingers my paintbrush& palms are my canvas.
 May 2014 Emily Joyce
Jaide Lynne
On average, 1 person commits suicide every 16.2 minutes.

How many more people have to **** them selves before society realizes some thing is wrong?

How many more kids, trapped between highschool walls, decide the only way out is to go up?

How many more news stories?

How much death does it take to prove a point?

How many more people need to see their own blood spill, watching their own life force deplete as they bleed themselves dry?

How many more Amanda Todds and Kurt Combains will it take?

How many pills must poison blood streams, slowly killing it’s victims from the inside out?

How many ropes must hang from ceiling fans?

How many more people need to lose their best friend?

How many more mothers lose their son?

How many fathers must lose their little girl?

How Many, how many does it take for society to realize there is something not right here?
So I wrote this, but I plan on extending it.
I don't know how to tell you,
I don't want to disappoint you
I'm depressed Mom
I wish I could say it to your face
Instead of writing it down
I want to be able to tell you
Because
I'm sick of these voices
Inside of my head
Telling me how fat I look
Or how I'm annoying everyone I talk too
But I try to be happy for you
I smile but do you look me in the eyes?
Can't you tell that there's a war going on in my mind?
I know you see my scars
But you don't say anything
why?
I'm slowly killing myself
And I try showing you signs
So when I'm gone
Don't hate me because I didn't tell you
I just loved you too much
To say it out loud
I wish I could tell my mom that I've been contemplating taking my life for 3 years
 May 2014 Emily Joyce
Eliana
I am in
so many different
kinds of pain
this morning. Don't
worry, though, I
have no intention of
disrupting the peaceful
start to your lovely
day. Here, watch
me grit my
teeth into a smile.
Written April 27, 2014
Hello. Most of you don’t even know who I am, but you see me every day. I am the girl that you ask to help with your homework, the “ Who knows the answer to number 11?” girl. But even the ones that know my name don’t really know me. Not even my closest friends. They don’t know the anxiety, the pressure, the constant fear of what might happen if I don’t pass in this test? How is my sister doing? Are they treating her right? If I fail this, will my future change? What about boys? Actually, no. Not going there. Because I am the smart girl who gives them the answers because I don’t feel like challenging the social ladder. Because I am a simple girl with a perfect life, right? Wrong. We all have problems, and I am willing to bet that some of you know where I am coming from. And maybe some of you have had it harder than me.

And that is why I put it all in. I smile, but it’s not in my eyes. I laugh, but does anyone hear how hollow my voice is? I get good grades, and when I don’t, it’s a big deal. I got a lower grade in my French class, and the class laughed. I scored an 88. Think about that. I am always pushed to do the right thing, do good in school, make a life for yourself. I HAD to get all above 95’s in Middle School. I HAD to make honor roll. My mother was counting on me as the perfect twin.

But what about me? How am I doing? Fine, fine, fine. That’s all that is ever said. All anyone hears. And if we are going to be honest with ourselves, all anyone cares about. Because no one wants to deal with that icky, nasty thing we label “The Truth”. That’s right folks. Because not everyone who looks okay is. Because not everyone who laughs isn’t crying on the inside. And not everyone one who smiles isn’t lying.

Now when you look down the halls of this school, how do you see people? Popular, football player, cheerleader, gamer geek, fat, gay, lesbian, emo, cutter, punk, teacher’s pet, and even the occasional ew freshmen. But no one know’s that their thoughts, they aren’t just in their minds. All thoughts find a way out. And these thoughts of yours that called us geek, nerd, teacher’s pet. We know them. We hear them. And they become our thoughts.

No one wants to hear this. There’s this voice in my head telling me I might pass out.... now! What if I mess this up? Will my teacher judge me? What about my friends? Are they going to like me, or leave me? My sister, her friends, how are they going to take this? Oh God, what if? But what happens when... Will they.... And someone will understand this feeling inside. The feeling of absolute dread. The feeling that you are going to die.

Welcome to the world of anxiety. The world of never ending worries, the realm of reliving nightmares that you haven’t had yet. The place where your worst fears become a reality. Anxiety is where you worry about things that haven’t happened yet, where people talk behind your back without ever saying a word. This is my world. What is yours?
I wanna fire you in my veins;
have you ruin my life
I want you to be the cancer, baby
I have to cut out with a knife
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