My first name is Amanda,
Like the song by the band Boston.
"I'm gonna say it like a man and make you understand, Amanda, I love you".
My middle name is Rose,
Like my mother's middle name,
Like my favorite flower.
My third name is Charolet,
Like the book about the pig and the spider.
The spider died, and I missed her.
My last name will be Goodness,
Like the man who kisses the tip of my nose.
Like the man who can't cook a burger by himself.

Is it too much to ask for someone to give a ****?
You are not blind.
You can see how ****** up I am.
You all can.
I can't ask for help again,
Because that does absolutely nothing.
Maybe if I stop cutting my legs,
And start cutting my wrists.
Maybe if I get drunk at 8 am.
Maybe if I start doing coke off the kitchen table again,
And waking up at 1 pm,
And staying in all day long.
And leave empty bottles of nyquil around my place,
Just for you to see.
What the **** do I have to do to get some ******* help?

When I was younger I was very girly,
I wore dresses and leggings,
But never jeans.
I loved pink and purple,
And I loved sparkles and bows.
I was very girly,
But I hated dolls.
I drew on my sister's baby dolls with ballpoint pens,
Covering their foreheads with my cryptic squiggles.
I would strip my Polly Pockets,
And let them lay naked and ashamed on my bedroom floor.
I would take all the limbs off of my Barbies,
And rearrange them into disfigured beauty queens.
Fake people have always bothered me.

I went for a run,
And listened to the sweet stylings of Eminem and Pink.
I enjoy the puns while my lungs are giving out due to my exertion of energy.
After an hour I jumped into the pond,
And I watched the fish swim around me.
And they looked to peaceful,
And they wished their fish wishes.
And it reminded me of an effortless cloud.
And that reminded me of my favorite childhood poem.
It was from Winnie The Pooh.
"How sweet to be a Cloud
Floating in the Blue!
It makes him very proud
To be a little cloud."
And I thought about how much has changed since I first heard that poem.
Now I love poems about suicide, ***, and self deprivation,
But I still wish I was a cloud,
And I do not love that poem any less.

I stand before you naked and bare,
Vulnerable and scared
With trembling hands, and shaky breath
Because you gingerly stripped me
Of the armor I had long ago melded to my being.
You carefully untied the intricate knots
That had tangled my chaotic mind.
You skillfully unfastened the clasps,
Which held together my crippled heart.
You watched as my insecurities
Fell to the ground in a pile around my ankles.

I stand before you naked and bare
With trembling hands, and shaky breath
Because the impassioned stare your eyes posses
Pierces the façade that I had shrouded myself with.
The softness of your caressing lips
Comforts the exhaustion of fleeing love.
The heat of your searching hands
Melts the ice that encases my thoughts.
The pressure of your firm body
Pushes away the worries of acceptance.

I stand before you naked and bare
Because your love has set me free from myself.