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imperfectwords Oct 2018
never good enough,
she must continue
searching for that elusive perfection
a body so skinny,
no bmi can define it
she starves herself
because she can't see
clearly anymore
her mind is shattered,
her body is faded away
and now,
as she unscrews
the cap guarding the bleach,
she thinks about how
much she needs
anyone to help her
she wants to put an end
to the noise her mind created
so she chooses the
a girl I know is killing herself with anorexia. she talks about committing suicide but doesn't listen to me when I try to help. this poem is my last resort. she's only 14.
imperfectwords Mar 2018
those dots appear
then quickly fade away
leaving me waiting
for a response
to the most important
question I could
ever ask you.

Do you love me?
imperfectwords Mar 2018
I hear things at night,
In the dark.
Things most people would dismiss
In an instant.
Wind against my window,
Whisking away fallen leaves
From the frosted ground.
Creaks and groans as this
Aging house grows even older.
A little girl crying,
Wanting someone to help.
Needing anyone to listen,
To answer her desperate pleas.
I hear her every night,
But there is no helping.
She mirrors my actions,
Imitates my feelings.
We are two of the same,
But the people who know me
Only know her inverse.
The image I strive to maintain,
The one that slowly gnaws
Away at my sanity.
The true girl hides
Beneath the surface, and emerges
When the daylight leaves us cold
And in the dark.
imperfectwords Feb 2018
We wake and rise
To face the world
That impatiently awaits us
Each day,
But no one asks
About the strength
It must take
To keep rising
When there's nothing
Left here


imperfectwords Jan 2018
And as I inhale the clean sharpness of the sweet, fresh air,
I open my eyes upwards towards the beautifully crying sky.
Today I am alive.
We all need a wake-up call now and again to remind us that life is worth living. Mine is rain :)
imperfectwords Jan 2018
i glance
at this
clock because
this block
will never
oh how
i hate
this frickn
clock that
only ever
shifts when
i dont
stare and lift
my hands
to my
head where
these thoughts don’t
oh my god
where is my
all i have left
is profanity
i need to
purge myself
of vanity
on this clock
that prevents
me of thought
oh what i
would give
to not
live in this
twisted plot
where tears
and fears
and ears
hear all
they should
but i cry
maybe if i
die i can
finally shed
the stress
against the wall
here we
i sit and let
the demons
my name
to play
their game
but i cannot
blame these
voices give
me the
for what i
create in
this ******* up
only adds
to the dread
that follows me around
invisible and
without sound
but still
it drives me
into the ground
what would
if i drowned
in this misery
oh why do i
try to find
victory when
all i ever
win is
self-inflicted injury
makes me
feel somewhat
at peace
nevermind the
blood but
the marks might
draw attention
gotta cover
up not to mention
im alright
didnt sleep
last night
im just
tired of
this fight
that just might
end me
what will
come free my mind im
floating at sea
calm breeze
thoughts tease
hope flees
and again i am
left to sit
and grit
my teeth
as class continues
i want to
my head
the wall
the bell
sends me
into shock
i glance
at the
as my body
begins to
out of this
I have worked
hard for
freedom though
i know
it will go
as i return
for school
(altered for public consumption- profanity  edited out)
imperfectwords Jan 2018
We meet again, ***** tile. I rest my head against the wall, staring at you as the cold water spurting from the leaky shower head
hits my back in violent, uncoordinated patterns.
Now begins another session of deep contemplation...
what will we explore this time?
Why my family insists on being so loud? The recent event on the news, and how utterly ridiculous politicians act? The newest drama from school? What strange "fact" my friend said to me this morning that made me question her internet sources?
No. Tonight is a night of tears.
They run down my face, leaving hot streaks that come as a shock after the steady drumming of the cold water on my body.
Picking up speed, I feel like a shower of my own...
why am I so sad?
For many months I've asked myself this question.
Every day I enter this shower
and reveal my true face to you,
little tile.
This shower is my version of a zen garden... the only place I can truly delve into the emotions I have pushed so far away.
But try as I might, I can't keep this mask on forever.
More and more tears fall from my contorted face.
it's everything.
the answer is everything.
I am constantly told to be grateful for all I have, to be thankful for the roof over my head and my food and clothes and family...
Do they really believe I lack gratitude?
That my emotionless face equates to me acting
Apparently it is unacceptable
for me to show my true face,
***** tile.
Evidently I must smile for the crowd, despite what
decay is taking hold inside.
So I will let these tears silently fall.
They are all that keep me real,
keep me human;
capable of other emotions than an exhausted smile
plastered to a weary face.
But I haven't long, I must collect myself again.
As my head separates from the porcelain surface,
I fix my eyes on you, my square friend.
What have I become?

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