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  Nov 2014 Ena Alysopriono
Chloe
I can't turn my sadness into beauty.  
I try and try and try but the truth is,
there's a certain kind of darkness
and a certain kind of evil
that can't be romanticized into a poem.
Not all feelings can be explained by vomiting up random words into a
college ruled note book paper.
We use words to make our suicidal thoughts sound normal.
Sound acceptable. Sound beautiful.
But suicide is none of those things.
So stop putting the idea of suicidal solutions into the minds of 13 year old boys and girls.
We constantly tell kids that suicide is not the answer,  yet we make the idea seem so appealing.
We paint a pretty picture of
slit wrists
coke lines
anti depressants
hospital beds
and grave stones.
But they are not works of art.
They are grey and cold and empty.
So stop using shades of red, yellow and pink, stop describing the warmth of pain, the way drugs and sliced skin fills your emptiness.
Tell it how it really is.
Instead of writing how good each cut feels, try writing about how bad it actually hurts. how its an addiction.
Instead of writing about the freedom you feel while high, try writing about the way you feel when you come down.  The way the pain crawls right back up your throat,  the way drugs actually ****** up your entire life.
Instead of writing about your sweet dreams of death,  the beautiful idea of taking your own life,
Try writing about the fact that you are terrified to die.  That you want so badly to live. That you don't want to give up.
Stop making the hurt you feel sound cool and trendy.
Tell the world what it's truly like
because lately people have sewn the words
"Beauty" and "pain" into a cute little pink sweater in white lace.
This isn't a poem.  This is a rant.
  Nov 2014 Ena Alysopriono
Chloe
You don't hate yourself
because of the
shape of your nose,
angle of your eyes,
length of your arms,
or size of your waist.

Your self hatred
runs so much deeper
than those things.
And
Your self worth
runs even deeper.
  Nov 2014 Ena Alysopriono
Chloe
My wrists still hurt from
the day you grabbed my arm
and my cuts opened up
underneath my sleeve.
I pulled away
but I didn't mention the pain
because how do you tell someone
who has never shed a drop of blood in
their life,
that every part of you is bleeding.
Every creature has emotions (Maybe not ducks)
Even sloths
We feel
We hurt
We love
We feel hunger
And thirst
And the want to be loved
Animals can't cry
But we can still feel like it
Just wanna cry right now
Ena Alysopriono Nov 2014
Part of me
                                    Feels empty
A hollow shell
                                    Non-existent
The other part
                                    Bubbles with anxiety
A tightness
                                    I can't lose

They are not mixed together

But they are also not pushing each other away

They are just coexisting

Something that shouldn't happen

That couldn't happen

So why is it happening now

?
Idk, I'm feeling really confused.
Darkness seeps between my fingertips
Even when my hands are clutched to my face as tightly as I can when I am crying alone
Fingernails digging into my skin
To remind myself that it is real
Sleeves pulled over my fingertips
So no one is forced to see the hideous things
Especially me
The way a murderer's mother shuts her son's old bedroom door at night when he has been jailed
To shut out the memories
Concealing what is unpleasant
At night I don't wear makeup
So when I wake up at 2AM to use the washroom
I keep the lights off
And fumble blindly through the black air to find the door handle
So I don't have to look at myself
It's getting worse everyday
A new kind of pain
And I don't understand
Why it hurts so much
But I think I'm going to stop telling people about it
I'm going to stop mentioning it no matter how much it hurts
I'm going to stop being self-deprecating in public
Because it just comes across vain, self-pitying, annoying, attention-seeking and fake
I want people to stop telling me I'm pretty
I want them to stop lying to me
Even if it just to spare my feelings
So I will stop putting them in situations
Where they must lie to me to be polite
I'm just going to be silent now
They already have to know how ugly I am on the outside
No one needs to know
What an ugly mind I have
I genuinely promise I am NOT looking for compliments when I put myself down every hour
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