Twelve.
Such a wonderful age.
The human is still young, yet beginning to gain more knowledge.
But my twelve was different.

My twelve wasn't playing with toys
Or reading books all day
No.
It was about working a hard job under my stepfather's violent hand.

About crying out for help
Yet too quiet to be heard.

My twelve was about finding the power of
Turning mental pain into that of physical
About the box of pills in my drawer
And a bottle of water helping them get into my system

My twelve was about going to sleep
And hoping i'll never wake up
About my mother not knowing her child tried to end his life
At its very beginning.

Today i found out that
My brother is turning into me.
Every single detail.
I'm scared for him.

If they knew what happened yesterday
What would they say?
What would she say to her man
If everything went according to the plan?

If she knew the pain i feel
Would she still think it's not real?
Would she regret the things he had done?
If after all of this, i will be gone.

Lost in addictions
And my own sorrow
My whole life a fiction,
With no tomorrow.

I write this words for me to remember
That i was once a child as well.
About what happened this December
And that i went through hell.

I'm sorry, mother
For being a failure.

I'm sorry, mother,
For leaving you.

I'm sorry, mother,
For not being the perfect child you wished i was.

I'm sorry, mother,
For giving up at such a young age.

I'm sorry, mother,
For not being you.

Scars fading away,
Along with the memories
Of the hurt and decay,
The endless stories,
Coming back fresh,
Regaining their life on paper,
Carving into the flesh,
Disappearing later.

Shut your eyes,
Fall into the pain's tight embrace,
And go to sleep.
Forget the lies,
At a tiring pace,
The very few memories to keep.

The monster's gone,
But is it true?
You think you won,
But the monster is you.

So shut your eyes,
Fall into pain's tight embrace,
And go to sleep.
Forget the lies,
At a tiring pace,
The very few memories to keep.

And i'm going to walk
Far, far away
Walk and die alone
Die and decay

They're not going to care about me anyway
But they're going to remember
That one winter day

One they stopped
Going to the playground
But you stayed.

One day they stopped listening
To their parents
Yet you obeyed.

The others grew up
When you did not.

For them it was nothing,
For you it was a lot.

He sat on the cold, wooden floor,
His only source of light a dim lamp outside
He was shivering from the cold but that didn't matter
As long as his words were given life

The quiet sound of the pen hitting the paper
The notebook being the only thing he owned
Yet so treasured
A portal to the past

Some pages were torn
Seen as useless
But so truly beautiful
As they gave character to the brown notebook filled with nonsense

Exhausted with his work
He fell asleep in the middle of a word
The pen slowly tracing a line down the page
Only for it to be found, another reason to shame the boy
For that he is different

And in front of a mirror,
here i stand
holding a blade
in my shaky hand.
Tears from my eyes forming small streams
i might be broken, or at least, it seems

It seems that something is wrong with me
But..-i ask myself- what would that be?
The blade drops to the ground
Leaving behind a quiet sound
That soon gets shushed by another one

Footsteps.

My dear mother looks my wrist
I try to say "i'm sorry" but the words wont come out of my mouth

Silence.

Silence louder than any other note.
Yet so quiet.

A sound breaks the tension.
The same footsteps, yet different.
Footsteps of dissapointment.

I'm a mistake.

you try to Survive,
jUst hold on a little longer,
not wanting to stay alIve,
Crying, but trying to be stronger.
i thInk you know how it fells,
Dying to never cry,
dying to not be alone,
despite the fact that you diE

Evening
A small child walking through the almost empty streets
You know this child very well
Or at least you think so
The child always wears long sleeves
Losing their happiness along with their youth

A child with dead eyes
A child with the stare of an adult
Yet a weak personality
That could be crushed with a single word

They used to be the happiest child in the classroom
Yet now they sit alone
A freak to the society
Because they're different

Maybe being different is bad sometimes

A poet that can't write,
An artist that can't draw.
I know that with my life
I won't get too far.

I wake up every morning,
Blinded by the light.
Working all day long,
Crying every night.

Scared of my stepfather,
Scared of the whole world.
I would escape from here,
If i only could.

A young little soul
But with so much pain.
And if i die soon,
Please remember my name.

I may not know you
But i know you so well.
Know you've been in heaven,
But also through hell.
And everything between,
Inside and beyond.
With so many things you have seen.
And no one to bond.


(with)

In every class,
Every place,
There is a child that's oddly quiet.
As the child grows up, they begin to change,
Growing more and more distant from reality.

They sit there emotionlessly,
Living their dream life in their own universe.
It's quite sad others can't see it.

Sometimes, imagination dissapears along with childhood innocence.
A child that can't play is no longer a child.
Some children are smarter than adults
That's why people belittle them.
They can't stand the thought of someone being superior to them.

Be a child as long as you can.
You'll regret it if you don't.

Maybe it's reality
Or maybe i'm just weak
I have no reason to paint pernament lines on my wrists, do i?
Other children work too, don't they?

That were the words of my dear mother
Who lulled me into sleep with pain
Pain caused by her boyfriend who despised me almost as much
As my differences

My house is not normal enough to be good
But not bad enough to be normal
At least that's what i was forced to believe since the
oh so perfect age of ten

Once upon a time there was a group of birds
They had traditions and very strict rules
They all lived in a tree and never left it
Because if one flew away, they would be seen as a freak

There was one little bird
At first he seemed to be like the others
But in reality, he had a dream
He wanted to escape the tree

He told his mommy about it but she scolded him,
Saying he should stay here as this is as it's supposed to be.
The little bird got sad but had to obey the rules
Over time he got older

The other birds liked him a lot
But one day he declared that he's leaving and no one can stop him.
In that moment, the birds forgot about his good qualities, talents
And started hating him

The little bird started to get bullied
Mocked
He just wanted to dissapear
He regretted his words

Months passed and it was time,
The day he was supposed to fly away
But the little bird wasn't there to experience his new found freedom
The other birds pushed him over the edge way too soon.

In this world, to gain success,
You have to start young.
Why?
Because grown-ups aren't that special, silly.

When a child draws a picture
It's more special that if an adult made it.
The younger you start, the more talented you seem
Even if it's not true.

As a child i wrote a story and was labeled "gifted".
Now if i wrote the same thing, i would be a degenerate.
Your skills are supposed to grow along with your age.
So this is why you have to start young,
To be valid at least for a while.

As the darkness surrounds my room
I type unspeakable words
To the only one that cares,
Yet he can't be here

The pain of being attached to something
You can't see
Or hear
The craving of his touch
That's way too far to reach you

You see the words on the screen
Yet you feel so alone
He cares, and you know that
But does he really?

I drop my phone
As i lay down, staring at the pretty white ceiling
Counting each second closer to our goal
I might be young but one thing i know for sure

Love is complicated

The poems.
The old, brown notebook,
Filled with all of my secrets,
Big and small,
Coded into poetry.

It was once clean
Filled with clear rain water
Mirroring your reflection
People not noticing its beauty
Stomped on it

Corrupted it with their shoes
The clear puddle was now brown
And *****
Small children wanted to play with it
But their mothers refused, as it was too filthy

But weren't they the reason the puddle was *****?
The children haven't done anything wrong
Yet they blame someone else
For what they have not done

And the puddle was left alone
Sad
With no one to admire it
And slowly but surely
It evaporated
Only to be replaced over and over again

Following the path
Written ahead
Not realizing
It's all in my head.

A childish object
Lifting you
Up and down.

The air surrounding you
Like a cold but comforting embrace.
Up and down.

The wind ruffling your hair
Like a loving mother's hand would.
Up and down.

Your only friend
That won't ever leave you.
You leave it first.
Up and down.

I enter the bathtub filled with warm water
To wash away the stress and trauma.
The liquid which used to bring me so much comfort
And so much fear.

The water i used to warm my hands with,
The water i used to make food i hoped no one knew about,
The water i gave my dying dog,
The water that kept me alive.

And i sit there, thinking about it.
About everything that can happen
In the span of 4 years.
Earth is a strange place indeed,
As it is filled with water.

My brain tells me to fight
But my heart says no

Leaving the house,
The memories,
Pain and happiness.
The child that used to live there.

Sometimes you leave too soon,
Sometimes you just have to.
For the good of the other people
Still locked inside.

You can't help but worry about them,
But you can't change anytning,
Now that you left.
But it is what you wanted, is it not?

You thought leaving the house would help you
But it only made it worse.
You have the life you wanted,
But at what cost?