Growing up I only wanted to be three things:
Important, Powerful, Loved.
I was torn down, suffocated, outcasted...
Not by my peers, my family, or anyone
But myself.

I am the reason why I will never amount to anything.
I am the only barrier I have ever faced.

Grinding, grinding, grinding.
Until my gums bleed and swell from the irritation of my colliding teeth.
I make up my mind to quit, and my mind whispers lovingly down, "Stop please."
By this time it is an impossibility.

I am so sorry to hear from you. I pull the trigger. She smiled softly and slipped from her seat. Her voice held in the darkness of the night. That is how Marisha gave service to Mara, she shared love with strangers and compassion for the hungry. None but the ones she helped knew that I have a feeling he already knows!

They can smell it on my being, because it is in my bra.
They can taste it on my tongue, because it is on my breath.
My heart is racing, my fingers trembling.
They can see the glaze and the haze in my gaze... **** they can see my eyes!
Just a little further, don't start walking fast. They will see through my scurry and then they'll know my task.

Around a corner I zip, slipping into my house.
One fluid motion leads to a needed inhalation.
And one, "Freedom," comes coughing out.

That he loved me when he first heard my name
He told me that he loved me and my life was never the same.
He told me that he loved me as he spread apart my thighs.
He told me that he loved me when he took me that night.
He told me that he loved me when I was late.
He told me that he loved me when we learned the date.
He told me that he loved me when the baby died.
But I know he didn't really love me...
Because he took his life.

When she asked me if I was afraid. I lied and told her no.
She pressed for a reason, I responded with a, "Why should I be?"

"You don't know what it's like to die..." She whispered.
But really, I did.

She closed the eyes that he swore were beautiful, and let a shaky puff of air leave her lungs. If it was her last she wouldn't have cared because forcing every one after felt like dying. The pain washed from her chest down her arms to the very tips of her fingers and lingered only for a second. It came when the breathing halted, when her body jolted in silent sobs.
She was very good at pretending, and had mastered the falsification of every emotion that she allowed to reach the surface of her face. Some days, though, she just couldn't hide the churning waves in her stomach and blamed any discomfort others could see on exhaustion.
No one knew the hollowness that ironically filled her heart. She couldn't stand the thought of being just another over dramatic girl seeking attention. She refused to cry. Crying, she had learned, got you no where. No one cared when you cried, they just blurted a calloused, "What's wrong," and usually just left it alone. Sadness and reasons for it were just pushed aside and buried because they didn't matter in the real world. No one cared that you hurt, that you needed help. You weren't even allowed to ask for support; as soon as you did you were called weak, a cry baby. She didn't want to be a cry baby...