Sometimes I just lay awake at night and I think. I think of all the things I shoulda coulda woulda done differently if I could do it all over again with the knowledge I know now. Sometimes I just want to cry. Thinking about all the stars who's wishes I wasted on dreams that were never going to happen. Sometimes I just stop. I think of all the things I coulda shoulda done when I did something wrong. Sometimes I think that's why I have insomnia. I can't stop thinking. I wanna take large chunks of my life and erase and rewrite. Sometimes I lay awake at night and I think of you. And then I tell myself I'm stupid because I don't even know you. A couple of dates some steamy kisses one shared night that's all we've got. But what is that. Sometimes I feel like I can't go on because the weight of everything is crushing me and making me sink. Sometimes I lay awake at night and I try to distract myself from the thoughts of my future. I wanna be a teacher but what kind of teacher am I going to be. Sometimes I lay awake at night and I think. I think of this ****** hand life dealt me and I think of who it made me become. Sometimes I think I hate myself. Sometimes I try my best to cry it all out and I just end up falling asleep.

I sit in this empty room and think. I think of my past and my future. I think of my present. The people that are here right now but won't be soon. I think of the people who have yet to be here and I wonder. How much will change? Will anything stay the same? The people I loved, I don't love. What am I to do? This empty room offers nothing in the way of help to my screams of desperation. I am so lost and confused. I feel so alone in this empty room that's really full of people full of life.

They say that the eyes are windows to the souls. So what would you see if you looked into my eyes? The love of a good person? A religion that thrives on individuality and doesn't change who I am? What do you see? I see a blank wall, one more reinforced than ever before. I see pain and anger, hurt and lies. I see a happy and beautiful person pushed too far and just trying to get by. I see fear. Too much fear. I see a blank look and a dark wall looking back.

I have a voice. A voice that is trampled and ignored and beat down to oblivion. But this voice is healing. She is learning to speak and become her own person. A voice can only be silenced for so long before the truth begins to break free. I am a broken voice beginning to see a light.

I am sometimes a poetry person. I do not write to feel good. I do not write poetry words for the masses. I write for myself. My poetry is my feelings. My outlet. I do not share because I do not care. I write what I cannot say because the hurt become too much. Too much to handle and too much to bear.