Yesterday I looked at myself in the mirror
And although I tried to take the advice given to me by my therapist
I was unable to find a single thing I might even just tolerate about myself.
Instead, my mind and heart raced each other, trying to see who would win the prize of defeating me
as I scan my naked body for each and every inconsistency and insufficiency.

You see my first memory of self hatred comes from a place most people could not predict.
Imagine me at six years old standing in the shower, so proud of myself
For finally graduating from the bathtub I had associated with childhood.
I had just finished reading “Falling Up” by Shel Silverstein.
And out of the more than 400 poems by this poet one stuck to my brain
Like peanut butter on the roof of my mouth after eating a PB&J.

Now if you’ll forgive me for getting off track for just this moment
I’d like to read you this poem entitled “Scale.”

“If I could only see the scale,
I’m sure that it would state
That I’ve lost ounces...maybe pounds
Or even tons of weight.
‘You’d better eat some pancakes-
You’re skinny as a rail.’
I’m sure that’s what the scale would say…
If only I could see the scale.”

If you’ve ever read a poem by Shel Silverstein you’d know that each of them
Are accompanied by an illustration.
This particular poem is positioned next to a drawing of a person standing on a scale
Unable to see the number because their stomach juts out just far enough
To block their view of the information that scale is providing.
I remember looking down at my naked body
Only to realize that i also could not see my feet.
My childish, growing, prepubescent tummy obstructed my view of my toes.
And I remember thinking for the first time, “Wow, I am fat.”
And that same feeling has followed me throughout these subsequent years.
Throughout elementary, middle, high school and beyond.
My dysmorphic perspective has been a shadow of which I could not shake.
And try as I might, deep down I knew that this was my fate.

I started restricting what I ate starting in 6th grade.
-I counted calories lost and gained and measured my size by the tightness of a tank top.
I watched videos of people like Eugenia Cooney,
and inspired myself through the photos I saw of
Emaciated girls kept alive by feeding tubes.
I was 12.
-I was diagnosed with Ee Dee En Oh Ess in the summer of seventh grade.
EDNOS is a catch-all eating disorder characterized by the characteristics you lacked
To be able to gain the coveted name brand DSM-5 diagnosis of anorexia.
-This I considered to be my failure.
To not qualify because of a lack of being underweight was all I needed for motivation.
So I doubled down on my efforts to lose weight and by the age of fourteen
I had finally achieved that which I so...craved.
I was the best. The skinniest. The one people whispered about in the halls and I had all the attention I could ever dream of getting.
And I was happy.
Wasn’t I?

Skip ahead to now and you will know my comeback story.
Seven years of weekly therapy, numerous psych ward stays, and one near-death experience
I can finally say that I am at a stable and healthy weight.
I continue to despise my body, but now I have the tools and mechanisms to be able to fight off the demon I had nicknamed “Ana”.
-And while I still cannot say that I truly love myself the way I am,
Slowly and steadily I continue to improve.
And I hope that one day I can look into that mirror, take in all my flaws and still be able to tell little 6 year old Grace…
“Sweet girl, you will be okay”.

I keep my paintbrush with me
Wherever I may go
In case I need to cover up
So the real me doesn’t show.
I’m so afraid to show you me
Afraid of what you’ll do-
That you might laugh or say mean things;
I’m afraid I might lose you.

But if you be patient and close your eyes
I’ll strip off my paint coats real slow.
Please understand how much it hurts
To let the real me show.
Now my coats are all stripped off-
I feel naked, bare, and cold.
But if you still love me with all that you see
You are my friend, pure as gold.

I need to keep my paintbrush, though,
And hold it in my hand.
I need to keep it handy
In case someone doesn’t understand.
So please protect me, my dear friend,
And thanks for loving me true.
But, please, let me keep my paintbrush with me
Until I love me too.

The pressure’s building up
I feel like soda that’s been dropped.
I feel like I’m about to explode
And I know that soon I’ll pop.

I know what’s about to happen
And I need to escape this room.
Where I go, I don’t know.
But I need to flee the impending doom.

I need to get to the clinic.
There I know I’ll be fine.
They always knows what to do;
But can I make it in time?

But no, it’s too late.
My soda bottle has blown.
I am no longer able to move, for
The seed of anxiety has grown.

Now I’ve collapsed, and
My rational side has died.
I can’t handle this-make it stop!
My strength is again being tried.

All the techniques I’ve memorized
Have completely flown my mind.
All the things I have prepared
Are suddenly unable to find.

“Don’t forget to just breathe!”
Ah, yes, the mantra of those “helpful” ones.
Well, here’s a newsflash for you-
Being told that helps NONE!

My lungs are overworking now,
And my heart is beating fast.
And every single breath I take
I fear it might be my last.

My hands have spiders in them.
My brain has gone offline.
My vision’s getting foggy;
Please- just don’t pass out this time.

My mind is leaving my body
And it’s floating freely in air.
I’m no longer able to feel anything
Please help me; I’m so scared.

Now I’m descending back to my body
And I can feel every atom around me.
It’s too much-make it stop!
Why can’t anybody hear my plea?

Luckily I calm down
Before my monster gets his way.
He’s returning back to hiding now
But I know he’ll soon come back to play.

I was floating in honey.
The viscosity of the substance
Made it so that, while I still needed to work
To keep my head afloat,
I had a little extra support.
So I didn't have to do it alone.
And it was good.

But my temperature began to rise.
I became too hot too fast, and,
Because of my actions
I started to destroy the beneficial parts
That the honey needed to remain useful and healthy.
So the honey reacted:
Threw my melting self out of its jar.
I tried to jump back in
But the honey firmly ******* its lid back on,
And my charring fists
Fruitlessly pounded on the boundary
The honey had erected.

Then as my body and brain burned,
The other honey jars disappeared-
Distancing in acts of self-preservation.
I knew how I could get my temperature
Back to baseline.
I just needed a little help
So I could work to get back to my normal self.
But my actions had pushed away what I needed.
So I accepted the fate I had caused,
And allowed my body to fall to ash.

The urgent care is the nursery
Where I choose my seeds with thought.
The doctor is the gardener
Who knows how to fix what I’ve wrought.

She sows the seeds inside my skin,
Yet not with a trowel or ***.
She uses a needle and surgical thread,
With budding knots lined up in a row.

Then she leaves me with my tidy ground
And some knowledge on how I should care
For the lined up plot she’s left to me,
Whose potential I’m required to bear.

The deep rivet I slashed into my skin
Is where the seedlings take root.
The blood from my veins keeps them moist
As the new blossoms stand resolute.

But when the weather grows dark and dreary,
My sprouts need cover from the cold.
So I bundle them up with jeans and sweats
To protect them and let them take hold.

But despite the layers I pile atop,
The small spiny blooms poke through.
I run my fingers back and forth,
And marvel at how fast they grew.

Then after they’ve grown for fourteen days,
I return to the nursery at last.
The gardener plucks and prunes and picks
‘Til the wounds and the blooms come to pass.

So now the perennials have passed us by,
And the sprouts have been taken to bin.
The wound that watered my seedlings’ through,
Has left but a scar on my skin.

They think happiness is a bouquet of helium balloons. Picture everyone in the world, each holding a bunch of balloons on strings. Most people's balloons are plump and bouncy, and they float really well. Some people's balloons might be droopy because they're sad, or sick or something. So the people that know me think my balloons are just droopy, and they try to help. They say, "Here, have some helium. Let's get your balloons all floaty again." But I'm not holding any balloons at all. So even if they gave me helium- tanks and tanks of it- there's nothing to put it in. My balloons are just completely missing.

Rubber bands wrap my body
The tan pseudo-office-supplies
Run in lines akin to guitar strings.
They’re both slippery and stiff,
And they pull in their surroundings
Holding them close like rubber bands do.
They are the reason I’m still whole.
Constricting around my body and mind,
Keeping everything together.
But when they begin to fail at that job
And thus threatening I fall to pieces,
I simply add some more,
To reinforce the wrapping’s reliability.

Turning on the T.V, you see a beautiful woman
Standing up, proud and straight.
You look down at your not-so-perfect self,
And your heart fills with hate.

You’re not like that woman,
But you’re beautiful just the same.
You have beauty where she doesn’t
Internal beauty is what you can claim.

If only you could see it,
You’d know your beauty too.
Unfortunately, society has brainwashed us
Into not loving people like you.

If I could change the world
We wouldn’t have to have waists of a centigram.
And I’d have the cute guys love me
For who I am- not what I am.

So look at yourself,
You’re beautiful just like me.
Loving yourself is the right path;
Confidence is the key.

I am stuck
In a maze of empty corridors
Lined with a thousand mirrors
Distorted and evil
And all staring at me.
When I look into the first mirror,
I do not see myself.
I see a malformed human
Staring back at me.
Ugly.
Fat.
Unlovable.
With blue pools of sadness
That well up
And drip tears of helplessness.
I am scared.
So I run.
But I stop a few mirrors down
Because I see another girl
with bruised skin
And cut cheeks.
She has been beaten.
But by whom?
I am scared.
So I run.
But again I am distracted
By another girl.
She sits alone, naked.
With wrists that are red
And thighs that drip the same.
She has been cut.
But by whom?
I am scared.
So I run.
I want to leave.
But the exit eludes me.
I start to panic;
I don't know what to do.
So I sit down
And cry.
But I hear a voice
Calling out my name.
So I run towards it.
But it's dark.
It's so dark.
Where is this person?
I run past another mirror,
And there is yet another girl
Who looks just like me
But happier.
Prettier.
Loved.
She is the one calling my name.
She wants to help me,
And yet she can't reach me
Through these mirrors I've created
For myself.
I am unreachable.
So I walk away
And, seeing an empty mirror,
I climb in,
And I am transformed into
A malformed self-image of a girl
Who has been beaten by her thoughts
And carved by her own hand.
And I want to go back.
I am scared.
So I try to run.
But I can't.

I am stuck in this hell I've made for myself.

When I walk by you
I can hardly breathe
I think I love you because
You are all I see.

When will it stop?
When did it start?
How can I follow my mind,
Without breaking my heart?

I guess I’ll have to stay
Okay without us meeting
But just so you always know;
Your existence keeps my heart beating.

What if our reflections
Really aren't what they seem?
What if they're the guardians of
A mirror's dangerous dream?

What if our reflections
Protect us from our very eyes?
Maybe they hide our true faces
And all we see are lies.

What if our reflections
Only show us what we want?
What if, underneath we're not so good,
And our face is just a front?

And what if our reflections
Skipped and took off for a day?
Maybe then we'd accept our own unique beauty
And stop hiding behind a cliché.

Her small round face stares back at her
Blinking blue eyes in the bright blue light and
She looks around knowing it’s wrong but not daring to ask why
While chubby pale fingers type in the line
“Chat rooms for kids”

She know that she is not yet old enough to be here
She’s only nine but she checks the box to assure the website that, yes,
She is 18 years old or above and, yes,
She understands that there is adult content present inside of this room and, yes,
Child **** is not permitted beyond this door.

But to a nine year old these letters on the page are meaningless.
She doesn’t know what adult content is or even how to
Pronounce the word ******* precisely.
All she knows is that in a matter of clicks
She will mean something.
She will mean something, and she will have worth.
She will be loved and cared for and praised and called a
Good girl, a
Babygirl, a
Kitten, a
Beautiful
Stunning
Delicious looking darling.

She learns new vocabulary terms but instead of words like
C-C-Contrast or
T-T-Typical or
D-D-Difficult
She begins to ingrain in her brain new and exciting words like
C-C-**** or
T-T-**** or
D-D-****.
She even learns how to use these fancy adult-y adultery words in a sentence like
“How big is your C-C-****?” and
“I don’t have T-T-**** yet” and
“I want to touch your D-D-****”.
And with every letter her tiny hands typed out, more and more men
Flocked to her DMs, ready to give her all the love she could ever need if only
In exchange for a couple of things…
Will you do a dance for me?
Will you say this sentence for me?
Why don’t you take your shirt off for me?
Show me what such a big girl can do with that P-P-*****.

And she continues to learn new things such as that
ASL means age, ***, location and that anything above 7 inches is
A good and impressive and “wow” thing and that
If she does what these men on the screen ask her to then
She will make them happy, which makes her happy, which means that she has done good.
And she learns that certain ways she moves makes them happier
And certain poses she can do allows them to show her their magic trick.
She doesn’t know how the magic trick works but it doesn’t matter because
When they perform their magic trick they thank her
And praise her and say nice things to her and
That’s all she really wanted.

She found a home in that cream colored background of
Www . chatavenue . com and she knew that even when the world
Was against her sweet, innocent nine year old self that she could
Turn to that blinking cursor and type a few letters and be able to
Feel loved.
And that was all she really wanted.

I went to a birthday party,
But I remember what you said.
You told me not to drink at all,
So I had a Sprite instead.
I felt proud of myself
The way you said I would
That I didn’t choose to drink and drive
Though some friends said I should.
I knew I made a healthy choice, and
Your advice to me was right
As the party ended
And the kids drove out of sight.
I got into my own car,
Sure to get home in one piece,
Never knowing what was coming,
Something I expected least.
Now I’m lying on the pavement,
I can hear the policeman say,
“the kid that caused this wreck was drunk.”
His voice seems far away.
My own blood is all around me,
As I try hard not to cry.
I can hear the paramedic say,
“This girl is gonna die.”
I’m sure this guy had no idea
While he was flying high,
Because he chose to drink and drive
That I would have to die.
So why do people do it?
Knowing it ruins lives.
But now the pain is cutting me
Like a hundred stabbing knives.
Tell my sister to not be afraid;
Tell Daddy to be brave,
And when I go to heaven
To put “Daddy’s Girl” on my grave.
Someone should have told him
That it’s wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his mom and dad had,
I’d still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter,
I’m really getting scared.
These are my final moments
And I’m so unprepared.
I wish that you could hold me, Mom,
As I lie here and die.
I wish that I could tell you,
I love you and goodbye.

Whisper to a scream
It doesn't matter anymore.
Whisper to  a scream
My whole life is just a chore.

Whisper to a scream
Someone just come and help me.
Whisper to a scream
All I want is to be free.

Whisper to a scream
I just can't wait to be free.
Whisper to a scream
It won't be that long, you see.

But yet, my whisper to a scream,
I'll still fight to the end.
Whisper to a scream,
I'll fight for you, dear friend.

I run my fastest
But I still get beat.
I land on my head
When I should on my feet.

I make good grades,
But they make the best.
Their smug little glances
Are the things I detest.

“I wish I could be smart,”
I often wish and pray
But I do know one thing-
Todays a brand new day.

So I’ll keep on going
Though the way might be rough,
But I know I can make it
If only I try hard enough.

Outside you see me smiling
And floating through each day.
A little tired, a little thin
But overall, okay.

But you don't hear my anguished thoughts
That surface every night.
They plague me, haunt me, torment me
'Til I'm too weak to fight.

And so next day I come to school
With deeply shadowed eyes.
I smile, laugh, and speak on cue-
Living a life of lies.

A silent scream echoes inside
Reaction to my lie.
'Til with no warning it erupts,
And I crumble down and cry.

Come find me! Help me! Make it stop!
No! Keep out! Go away!
For if you come I've no control
Over the words I say.

Someday I might tell someone
Or maybe I just won't.
Please, someone just help me understand...

God only knows I don't.

Bells ringing
People screaming
What is happening?
Teacher's yelling
Intercoms's crying
What is happening?
Locked doors
Turned off lights
What is happening?
Under desks
"No talking!"
What is happening?
A loud crack
A lone scream...

This is no drill.

What do mirrors see
When they look into themselves?
They see an unending
always-changing
maze
of themselves.
Full of
twists and
turns that
will never be explored.

What do people see
When we look into themselves?
We see a
never ceasing
always growing
labyrinth
of ourselves.
Full of
secrets and
pain that
will never be uncovered.

So, my dear, I ask you again:
What do mirrors see
When they look into themselves?

Chains.
I am bound by chains.
I am chained to my past;
I cannot speak.

Shackled.
I am shacked to life.
Too afraid to let go-
Yet too weak to fight.

Help.
I need help.
I can't do this alone,
And I am so scared.

Alone.
I'm alone in the world.
No one can help-
Yet who would want to?

Sherri can you hear me?
I'm sitting in my bathroom,
I've got a bunch of pills
And I'm ready to meet my doom.

Sherri can you hear me?
I'm almost ready to die.
I called you for one reason,
I wanted to say goodbye.

Sherri can you hear me?
Please don't call nine-one-one
Nothing can help anymore.
It's all done; I'm done.

Sherri can you hear me?
One, two, three, four.
Counting pills, ready for death
Oh no, they're at the door.

Sherri I gotta go,
The ambulance is here.
My wrists are sliced real bad
And my death is getting near.

Sherri I'm so scared.
Lights and sirens are on high.
They're sticking stickers on my body,
My death will soon be nigh.

Grace can you hear me?
My heart's beating too fast.
I'm seizing, once, twice, three times,
This day will soon be my last.

Grace, stop, stop!
I'm pulling out my needle
Barely aware of what's happening
My body's turning feeble.

Grace, why did you do it?
I'm now being interrogated.
Summit Ridge or Peachford?
To the hospital I am fated.

Mom can you hear me?
It's finally visitor's day.
I'm so anxious, I love you lots
Please mom, will you stay?

Grace did you hear me?
You're going no matter what.
Skyland Trail's the next step,
No ifs, ands, or buts.

Mom can you hear me?
I miss you too much.
Please. come pick me up,
I really miss your touch.

Friends can you hear me?
You're help was invaluable.
A Thank You goes to everyone
My recovery is beyond admirable.

Hidden behind this mask that I wear
I play a part that is filled with despair.
Lovely Juliet is the part that I play
And dear Romeo is for whom that I pray.

Endlessly my Romeo follows and courts me
Yet when I grow close he turns 'round to flee.
I fall on the ground and bow my head to weep
My strength is taken, and so I turn again to sleep.

Yet my Romeo is not an ordinary man,
And yet I chase after him again and again.
My Romeo is more of an idea or thought.
Perfection is him, and that's what I've besot.

I chase after perfection day after day
Yet I lose it when I try to be my own way.
Is death the only route that will achieve me perfection?
And not have the ongoing need for correction?

My death is inevitable  now that I know
How to get to my goal on the road I will go.
I try to fall, and yet I don't succeed.
I try to cut my lifeline, but mistakes are what I bleed.

So I try to again in my quest to fall
An attempt again to end it all.
Eventually, perfection is what I achieve
Finally are my Romeo and I to be grieved.

I am a poet who writes of my pain
I am a child who lives in shame
I am a teenager suffering from depression
I am a sister trying to make a good impression
I am an actress on a castle on a cloud
I am a daughter trying to make them proud
I am a student who doesn't have a clue
I am the girl sitting next to you
I am a person wishing they'd care
I am your friend, hoping you'll be there.

The playground is getting dark
It’s almost time to go
Finally I smile and lean my head back
And then I go and swing some more

My neck strains as I'm
Swinging to and fro
Isn’t this playground lovely?
I laugh and swing myself some more.

I tighten the rope a little more
There’s still a little way to go.
But better safe than happy
So off the shaky seat I go
Swinging to and fro.

I dangle from my rope
There’s nothing left at all
There’s a smile on my face
As you watch me
Swinging to and fro.

You go to school
Like a regular day
But your friend, the price
She had to pay.

Your teacher comes in,
Her nose is red
She tells you, "Sweetheart,
Brianna is dead."

You don't understand this-
It seems too soon-
Brianna, you expected
Had many more moons.

Your feelings are tangled
Your heart sends out a cry.
Brianna is dead,
But her legacy will never die.

Hours of labor, and minutes of rest
Only to be taken away from the breast.
Months of pain, hardship, and fear,
But, in the end my decision is clear.

I am not ready to bear a child on my own
My partner has left me; I am all alone.
My baby will do well in the hands of another,
Anyone but me could be a better mother.

So I hand off my child into the arms of a nurse,
Knowing for the rest of my life I'll be cursed.
She cradles her gently, and holds her with care,
While I lay there and wallow in self-hate and despair.

She brings back my daughter all squeaky and clean
Her new parents follow with eyes all agleam.
They name her Grace, meaning "gift from God,"
I smile and laugh, feeling like a fraud.

I hand her over, my baby no more,
As she leaves my hands, I feel a jolt in my core.
I'll never see her again, but I know this is right,
They're taking my darkness to turn it to their light.

I drive away from the hospital, with a wave and a smile
Knowing I'm leaving behind my child
...

I wear my mask almost every single day
It feels like I just can't get away.
I wear it to hide the real and true "me"
Hide me away so no one can see.

I wear a mask to hide the truth
I was hurt many times during my youth.
Trusting people who shouldn't be trusted
My innocent self was truly beyond busted.

The mental illness that resulted from that
Makes every day a day with combat.
I wear my mask to hide from others
My struggles that I seek to cover.

People with BPD struggle immensely
To seek and to hold their own true identity.
I count myself as one among them
A lifetime of masks I have been condemned.

It feels as though I am a ball
Up and down, forever I fall.
Not tethered to anything, flailing about,
A cycle I cycle, never to get out.

It affects my relations by ceasing to exist
Even though I try hard to persist.
My personality changes too often
Hanging with me deserves a precaution.

So I'll wear my mask, I'll don it again
To keep them from seeing me so insane.
The true "me" is hidden, back to pretend I go,
You know me too well, true "me" almost showed.

If I allowed myself to trust you
Would I have chosen right?
Should I believe that you can help me?
Or should I retreat again into my night?

See, every time I've tried to trust
I've always gotten burned.
Could this time end up differently?
Have the tables finally turned?

Please understand I'm slow to trust
And even slower in sharing my soul.
Patience and a kind ear are what I need.
Can you provide these, and console?

I have hidden my pain from many a friend
And have held in my tears for many a day.
Can you uncover these hidden relics?
Or will you use my sorrow as your hideaway?

For trust is like the words that you use;
Easy to say, but impossible to retrieve.
'Cause once you've trusted and been broken down
you learn to keep your heart off of your sleeve.

So that is why I pen this poem:
To try to express my feelings to you.
I'm truly trying to trust again,
But the betrayals I've felt are too hard to eschew.

My father walked me down the aisle
But it wasn't with a veil
My father walked me down the aisle
My eyes were dark and pale.

My father walked me down the aisle
Towards the priest in white
My father walked me down the aisle
My eyes were staring without sight.

My father walked me down the aisle
But I'm not dressed for Him.
My father walked me down the aisle
My figure wan and thin.

My father walked me down the aisle
I'm dressed in Sunday best,
My father walked me down the aisle
Tears falling onto his breast.

My father walked me down the aisle
But we're not holding hands
My father walked me down the aisle
My men around me stand.

My father walked me down the aisle
Without something old or something new.
My father walked me down the aisle
Without borrowed; nothing blue.

My father walked me down the aisle
My face is all made up
My father walked me down the aisle
The priest prepares the bloodcup.

My father walked me down the aisle
But I'm not standing tall
My father walked me down the aisle
I'm hiding underneath a pall.

My father walked me down the aisle
Along with five other men.
My father walked me down the aisle
The ceremony's about to begin.

My father walked me down the aisle
He set me down at the front
My father walked me down the aisle
His baby is at the forefront.

My father walked me down the aisle
And sat down at his seat
My father walked me down the aisle
He sat, and then he weeped.

My father walked me down the aisle
His job is almost done
My father walked me down the aisle
Eyes staring at no one.

My father walked me down the aisle
And then left me far behind.
My father walked me down the aisle
I'll always be on his mind.

My father walked me down the aisle
And left me in my grave
My father walked me down the aisle
A last flower petal is what he gave.

Do not tell me
Your best friend wouldn't be
Gasping for air as she
Hurls herself to the ground
In agony and grief.
Do not tell me
Your classmates wouldn't stare
At your empty seat
Holding back tears
Long after you're gone.
Do not tell me
Your teachers wouldn't give anything
To read one more paper
Or grade one more test
So long as they can have you back.
Do not tell me
Your brother wouldn't
Walk past your closed door and
Be yelled at one more time
For one more stupid problem.
Do not tell me that your father wouldn't wish
That he could hold his baby
Instead of watching them lower his princess
Into her final resting place.
And do not ******* tell me that your mother wouldn't sob
As she washed your last load of laundry
That you would ever *****,
Wishing she could smell her baby girl
One last time.

Do not tell me they wouldn't miss you

Because they would.

Look into my eyes
You really can't see much,
But look a little harder
For I am cold to the touch.

My smile is plastic,
But I make it look so real,
But now I am struggling,
'Cause this smile's beginning to peel.

There are no words for this-
Nothing seems right to explain.
People just can't comprehend
This inexplicable pain.

So that is why I write,
Although I can't show anyone.
But this weight on my shoulders?
It weighs more than a ton.

So look into my eyes
For the eyes are the key to a soul.
Look a little deeper,
For my heart's black as coal.

Suicide doesn't end pain
It just passes it on
To the people you love most.

Welcome to the Brookwood bathroom,
A place of sorrow, a place of gloom.
What happened here will happen again,
Which is why I pen this silent refrain.

Here come the girls who use the mirror,
Which was designed to help you see you clearer.
But with every stroke they distort their faces
'Til all that's left is nameless traces.

And here comes the child who cries herself to sleep,
Though during class her sanity she keeps.
But once her class ends, she rushes to the stall.
The monsters in her head begin their free-for-all.

And here comes the girl with her body a mess.
She tears it up at the slightest sign of stress.
She comes into here to slice up her arm.
One more victim in this war on self-harm.

Here comes the boy who stays after each day.
He thinks by hiding here he can get away.
He knows his parents are fighting at home,
And he's scared his dad won't leave him alone.

And here comes the child who binds their ******* in here.
They live their life cowering in fear.
Feeling like neither a woman nor a man
And lately they've been asking themselves if they can.

And here comes the teacher who's stressed to the max
She feels as though she's bound to collapse.
She chose this job in order to make a difference
But all she's met with is loathing and bitterness.

Now it's time to say goodbye
The transition bell is looming nigh.
Leave behind the wanness and sorrow
And leave me to cope with it all again tomorrow.