Abused
Belittled
Used
Scared
Exploited

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

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.

All adults were once children
There are no exceptions
And that's what's truly heartbreaking
Villians are made, not born
At least not always

Every angsty drug dealer
Every teacher
Every depressed poet
Every grave

When you see a homeless person
Do you ever wonder what their life has been before?
They were just a child
With hope
Hope which died along with their innocence

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.

Have you ever wanted to escape to a place where no one can see you?
Maybe you tried imagining the place by yourself.
The innocent little dreams turned into maladaptive daydreaming.
And suddenly, you're sentenced to being mentally ill

The imaginary world begines to grow,
Consuming you more and more.
Soon, you can't see the difference between the real world and the one
You made up.

You slip into derealization
It drowns you while giving you short breaks for air
To let you stay alive
While still hurting

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

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.

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

My favorite hoodie,
One that aged along with me.
The hoodie that remembers it all,
The pain, sweat fear,
Still having the white paint stains.

It remembers the joy,
The children's laughter,
The forest we both used to love
And the universe i created in my head.

It knows more about me than any person in the world,
Remembers all of my happy and sad moments,
The tears of joy and sadness.
Today i am wearing it and writing this poem.
Thank you.

Hearing your voice
And seeing your face
Traumatizes me more than i'd care to admit
Even though i was supposed to be strong.

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.

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?

When he was little he promised his mommy:
"I won't be like daddy, i swear!"
But promises are often broken
Especially when the person who made it, is broken too

He tried to keep his promise
But he failed.
He failed at everything.
A failure.
Ironic, isn't it?

The little boy turned into a young man
14 years old is a big boy after all
And the little boy slowly began dissapearing.
His mommy didn't like his changes
But he couldn't help himself

Why be a lawyer when you can
Rot in bed reading psychology?
Write poems, losing yourself in your own world?
Become an actor?

But he broke the promise.
Became so fake, being an actor wasn't a problem at all.
He lost the little boy he was before.
But he was still there.

Today, he says "i'm sorry".
But it's too late.
The little boy is dead.

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.

Imagine a little child
Wandering through the streets all alone,
With nothing but a tiny backpack
And a toy in their hand.

No one stops to ask if they're okay,
No one wants to look at them,
Most people don't even aknowledge them.

And they only care
When the child gets hit by a car,
Dissapears from existence.
To never be seen again.

I could never write those.
A type of art so sweet for the soul,
Yet so hard to master and understand.
A poem written by the heart,
The hand only being a
Tool for it to communicate.
Trying to explain
Something no one truly knows.

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

I
Am
Bad
With
Stuff
Barely
Showing
The way i am
Explainin'
Them and i am
Seeing that i
Don't belong to
This world for
The current age

Yall i found my old notebook with some poems i wrote when i was like 12-13, should i post them here? Perhaps make a collection? Let me know what you think in the comments

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