After the bleeding ceased,
I was supposed
to be

okay. There would be no more sharp things
inside me,
and even better,
nothing left for them to slaughter.

(My dead baby, pelted with thorns,
knows why roses
are red.)

Yet
I am still hurting. I
am not empty like I should be.

When the dry ache turns sharp, I still
think
that someone
is kicking their way to my heart.

i'm too human
for anyone to love.

I want to scream at all the people
who pushed me down
I want to yell in their faces
for making me hate myself
I shouldn't want to
**** myself
my only pleasure shouldn't be
in the form of a metal blade
that's wrong it's ****** up
I want to scream at everyone
who said I was ugly
im not happy with myself no
but some girls want my curves
some guys stare at me
I want to yell in the faces of
those who call me fat ugly short
I don't need your crap
I want to want myself
I want to be loved
I want that so bad
                                                        sometimes
                                      I think maybe someone
                                          will ask me out
                                                      on valentines day
                                       sometimes I think
                                                it might happen
but it won't
and that's life
im me and I
do still think
of suicide
but I also
want to be
happy