Is it all too much when I ask for nothing?
Just for you to say 'hi' in the halls,
And ask if I'm okay when I'm crying in the corner,
But it's all too much for you.

Is it all too much when I say a word?
Just one single word about myself,
And even when the words are ones you should care about,
It's all too much for you.

Is it all too much when I hang around?
Just to be there and not be lonely-stricken like I am,
And have someone to keep me accountable,
But it's all too much for you

Because even when I'm sad, and down,
Even when I stay up late for your wallows,
Even when I need to rant because then I'll scream,
And I listen to all of your creations without a second thought.
Even when I'm just there; silent, invisible,
You'll still push me out.

I know that I'm weird, a mess—different,
But so are you, and that's what makes us fit.
But now you glare at me from down the hall,
So I'm sorry this can't mend,
But that's alright with you, isn't it?

You put on your glassy mask
So I'll only see
The version of yourself
You contrived for me.

You slip on your suffocating shoes
So you can walk on
Like you're not gasping for air,
And nothing is wrong.

You tie up your hair tightly
So you can pretend
You're that pretty little girl again
With those once loyal friends.

You slide up your dejected glasses
So I can't see your bleeding scars
Hiding behind the facade—
I don't know who you really are.

You said, "I love you still"
And the words are like boulders on my back,
Crushing me, like how I drowned our love
Because we were just momentary.

Waltzing with my hand intertwined with death
Has never been a greater fate,
You'll keep pulling that knife out of my chest,
But you'll always be too late.

On misty moons, I wander free,
Escaping life's cacophony,
The world's too loud—a fading sound,
As nature's peace enfolds me round.

All alone, my spirit grows strong,
Visions of a hidden world beyond;
Shadows of the past still linger near,
And now, my soul will find me here.

For in this land, I'm never alone,
Nature's heartbeat echoes my own.
Let me dwell here, where wisdom flows,
With a world of wonder that grows and grows.

I've never felt second best,
Being a twin, you get asked a lot of questions:
"Who's older?"
"Who's smarter?"
"Who's the favorite?"
But you never gave into them:
"They were born at the same time"
"They both have straight A's"
"I love them both so much"
What's changed?

I've learned that I'm younger,
Only by a second—a moment,
My birth certificate bears a different time,
Yet we still tell people we're the same age
Because the difference doesn't define us.

Now I'm starting to fail my classes,
Not a single A to my name anymore.
You must think of her as the smarter one,
While I'm the one who can't be bothered:
No homework, no studying, no perfect SAT score.
Have things changed because you've finally chosen a favorite?
And of course, it's her.

I've grown to hate myself,
So it's not surprising you do too.
You see yourself in me and loathe it,
Support no longer feels like support
Because you can't imagine I'd be anything like you:
Of course I'm not sad,
Or anxious enough to pass out,
Of course I'm faking when I'm throwing up
So you'll send me to school.

But when she wants to stay home,
You shower her with love,
Buy her favorite foods,
While you'd take mine away to keep me thin.

When I want to disappear,
I'm still second best.
You'll cry, but still yell,
Making me feel guilty for wanting you to care.

I'll keep my head down—float with the majority,
And try to live with being second priority.
But know that I am more than your reflection;
More than a twin, more than second best.
I am my own person, worthy of love,
Even if you can't see it yet.

since i was twelve
i've always hated this body,
looked in the mirror every morning
and saw it glaring back at me,
because it hates me just as much as i hate it,
i didn't know insecurities could mean this much.

they give me all the pills
to try to make me not be afraid of me
but i know they can't ever fix me
so i push them all away
so i don't drown myself in medicine
just to die again.

i've seen therapists
but they don't seem to care
when I tell them my feelings
because they'd rather send me into an asylum
for my cynical thoughts.

I'll take another punch,
another cut, another hit, another fake fix
so I can pretend like I am happy
while i'm dying on the inside,
because escapes are better than healing
what might be beyond repair.

I don't want to be this way forever,
and I'll keep lying to myself
saying i'm getting better
when i'm falling deeper into darkness,
but it seems that I stop myself
before I get better,
because I hate me
and i'm scared to be happy.