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 Sep 2014 Kate
Jay Ash
a knight in shining armour
to win a girls heart

a knight in shining armour
to gleam in the sun

a knight in shining armour
is a man who has never seen battle

my armour is not shining
but dented and damaged

i am not a knight in shining armour
the shine is long gone
only a crust of dried blood remains

i am not a knight in shining armour
once maybe, but no more

for i have seen too many battles
and will see too many more

yet as She views Her suitors
She has already chosen Her champion
long before the fight-

there he is boldly:
a knight in shining armour
 Sep 2014 Kate
Sometimes Ally
after rehab you're to be better
they give you happy pills
just something to numb the pain
but my friends
they don't understand
they don't get that tiniest thing can make me
s
l
i
p
more recently i glance at my razor
the only one who makes me feel better
makes me feel like myself
makes me feel
something
four months clean and i start
s
l
i
p
p
i
n
g
finally i give in
and everything rushes to the surface
ruby red and beautiful
first in little beads
now in streams
slipping is more comforting than
this so called recovery
 Sep 2014 Kate
Anna Patricia
The difference between my consciousness and subconsciousness is so severe,
So severe I fear I must sever the tie between the two.
Two halves of a whole that is me.

One says, "Be happy! Why not?"
And the other says, "Be happy why? Not!"
I feel the weight of the disagreement and I can't wait for it to stop.

My left hand holds the cake,
As the blade in the right "accidentally" slices my left wrist instead.

This fight within myself has left me battle scarred,
But the battle scars on my wrists and thighs
Are no match for the scars on my heart.
 Sep 2014 Kate
Chloe
I can't turn my sadness into beauty.  
I try and try and try but the truth is,
there's a certain kind of darkness
and a certain kind of evil
that can't be romanticized into a poem.
Not all feelings can be explained by vomiting up random words into a
college ruled note book paper.
We use words to make our suicidal thoughts sound normal.
Sound acceptable. Sound beautiful.
But suicide is none of those things.
So stop putting the idea of suicidal solutions into the minds of 13 year old boys and girls.
We constantly tell kids that suicide is not the answer,  yet we make the idea seem so appealing.
We paint a pretty picture of
slit wrists
coke lines
anti depressants
hospital beds
and grave stones.
But they are not works of art.
They are grey and cold and empty.
So stop using shades of red, yellow and pink, stop describing the warmth of pain, the way drugs and sliced skin fills your emptiness.
Tell it how it really is.
Instead of writing how good each cut feels, try writing about how bad it actually hurts. how its an addiction.
Instead of writing about the freedom you feel while high, try writing about the way you feel when you come down.  The way the pain crawls right back up your throat,  the way drugs actually ****** up your entire life.
Instead of writing about your sweet dreams of death,  the beautiful idea of taking your own life,
Try writing about the fact that you are terrified to die.  That you want so badly to live. That you don't want to give up.
Stop making the hurt you feel sound cool and trendy.
Tell the world what it's truly like
because lately people have sewn the words
"Beauty" and "pain" into a cute little pink sweater in white lace.
This isn't a poem.  This is a rant.
I can't breathe, the dirt is filling my lungs
Trying to scream out the lies of their tongues
No one hears, and no one cares
All they give is glances and sad stares

Pierced hearts and missing eyes
Thinkin' they won a prize
Saying good-byes with no tears to be seen
They say they don't remember
But I know they do
Skin is turning blue

My life is fading
Never dealt with this kind of aching
Spine broke in half and neck snapped
And now I'm trapped.

I'm running out of air
Take me to place of bare love and tear
 Sep 2014 Kate
livid
5:17 PM
 Sep 2014 Kate
livid
You are not defined by the frail spine that stretches when you reach up to embrace me.
You are not defined by the plump lips that form my name in times of desperation.
You are not defined by the eyes that look at me and make me feel like the heat of a forest fire is on my chest.

You are defined by the loves you’ve lost.
You are defined by the words you’ve screamed at your mother out of pure fury.
You are defined by the quick beating of your heart when you look at another girl, my love.

Most of all, you are defined by the dark past that you are so reluctant to share with me.
Let me in.

(p.h) (j.w.)
we never worked out. no longer relevant.
 Aug 2014 Kate
Luvanna
canvas
 Aug 2014 Kate
Luvanna
people should stop romanticising their scars
like jewelries bloom upon their skin and flesh
aren't all of us a little bit addicted
with pain and the bruises, the spectrum they make
with the rain and thunder
the violent lullaby
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