bruises all over my face
scars all over my arms
i promise i haven't hurt myself
i tried to let myself sleep
for eternity
i closed my eyes
and hoped blood would flood
and breath would run out of me

will you just come and fix me
or will you just press on my fresh scars
will you just say that i'm beautiful
please
you don't mean it
and i never needed to be fixed
i wanted to go
but you made me stay
and i blame you
for my endless misery

little girl,
six years old,
she thinks about her death.

she thinks how the world would be better off
without her.
she wishes upon stars
to find friends.

she knows she's not like the others.
she wrote the beautiful poems.

she was a smart kid.
she grew to be devastated,
by the reality of things.

she already knew that,
the world doesn't work
the way she wanted it to.

she was just sad,
all the time.

and as she grew older
she grew wiser.


today, this girl is seventeen.

going through a lot,
trying to be the best person she can

and in eleven years she did
what she never thought she could do;

be a beautiful poet

i'm not beautiful
never will be
i'm not smart
you can't say that to me
don't tell me nice things
i am none of them
i am horrible
a monster
a human
i can't look at myself in the mirror
and when i do
i see eyes
showing disgust
i see them shaming
what they're looking at
i don't want you to tell me lies
let me drown and die in the truth
the harsh truth
i am not beautiful
i am not being humble
i am not beautiful
and never will be
not physically
not in soul

I have more walls up than I ever had,
I think that's a good thing.
I needed a slap on the wrist,
a fresh perspective on reality.
There are worse tragedies in the world.
You have to pick yourself up,
and you got to keep going.
You have to find your place in the world,
and find your purpose.
You are so small,
so very small compared to the world.
Think of bigger things around you.
You are minuscule compared to the universe.
Suddenly you don't feel so big anymore,
you are small,
so very small.
The weight of the world
and your problems don't matter.  
There isn't anyone crying for you
and no one cares.
It's not a perfect world
or a caring one.
It's every man for himself.
So go and cry,
go right ahead.
Because there won't be anyone
waiting for you to call them and
vent, and they won't be waiting
for you to come home to them.
You are alone.
It's not a ***** word,
or a sad one.
Depends on who you are
and how you interpret it.
Get up.
Go and do what you were meant to.
Life is too short to regret.
You're seriously going to let
one little thing stop you?
If that's true then you are
worth as much as you always
thought you were.
Nothing.
You are not nothing.
You are something.
Something good and gracious.
Something worth living for.
Something worth having.

I hate when people say things to try to make me feel better.
Why can't you be honest and say what's on your mind.
So what if I'm hurting,
I just want to know the truth about everything.

Good things come to those who wait.
I am so sick of hearing it.
I've be waiting for so long,
it feels like hundreds of years.

Maybe I was reincarnated from the past.
Maybe I found the one already,
but it was in a different time.
And maybe now in this decade I need to find him.

I wish that was true.
But I'd have no idea what he'd be like.
Yet I know when I see him,
it'll feel like a real kind of love.
One that's been around for years.

Today I am consumed by perpetual guilt, largely dominated by the fact I am a hopeless romantic who does not conform to general 21st century ideals of what a good looking woman entails.

Much to my misfortune, I do not have curves in places which would appeal to anybody's tastes. Every day I become increasingly grateful for clothes which hang in such a way which forgive and mask my treacherous, pale carcass. I do not belong to a culture which allows me to obscure my face into hiding, so I am forced to cause suffering to whoever witnesses my bruise framed eyes and morbidly shaped nose at a time when I do not care to improve it.

Night time is filled with intrusive thoughts, and the biggest fear of all; who will lie in bed with me and endure my scar littered skin, my insulting body, and myself, starved and drained of self-worth?
One thing is certain: If I was anyone other than myself, I sure wouldn't.