If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

I have a lot of secrets
there are some I cannot share
Some things need to be kept quiet
I am sorry if you don't think that's fair
There are bad things that I have done
I have made people cry
I have disliked a person so very much
that I wished she would die
Some of the secrets I have though
are secrets I cannot hide
Everyone knows that I used to be a cutter
and yes I have thought of suicide
Sometimes I still have suicidal thoughts
but I am learning to ignore them
I am learning to embrace life like a giant cookie
I don't need to give into them
Some secrets I have make me cry
I wish they weren't in my head
When I think of these secrets they make me angry
and I wish myself dead
These secrets are past memories that no one else needs to know
their memories that don't exist anymore
meaning it is time I let them go

Red hued water swirls round the drain.
Bloodied hands wash themselves of sin.
Vacant eyes glance briefly in the mirror.
As the once temporary mask grows permanent.

The charade will continue.
The show must go on.
The bright and magicked aural lies persist.
For this is the reality of life.

Every human is an actor.
Every life has its stage.
And there is none willing to consider
Taking a peek behind another's curtain.

Too many acts to follow.
Too many roles to play.
We're all grifters and cheats
Trying to make a way in our worlds

And get everyone else to believe
We belong here as much as the next.

For the broken don't belong.
The wounded and bloodied don't belong.
The scarred and marred don't belong.
Not in a world that prizes symmetry
And wholeness and uniformity.

What is uniform about the bags
That darken our eyes?
What is whole about the scars
That shade our arms?
What is symmetrical about the sad smirks
That crook our cracked lips?

What is prized about our brokenness?

So we play our roles
And we play them well
So no one knows
Our brokenness.

But we do.
For our reality is in the mirror.

The now shattered mirror
Streaked with blood
To match the cuts
New to our fists.

My heart is like
The plate you broke
That was Grandmas favorite
And you lied to cover it up

You see,
Like shattered china
I'm sharp at the edges
And will cut anyone who tries to help me
Intentionally or not

And while once I was beautiful
I fell
And I'll never be the same
Once I was loved
Now I am just trash

And now that I have fallen
I'm full of lies and guilt
And a little anger
Should grandma ever find out

This is what my heart is