If it was just for attention, we wouldn’t try to hide it.
If it was for attention, we’d do it on our face.
Take the razor and paint a pretty picture
Of the life we never wanted.
If it was just for attention
We wouldn’t lock the door
Of our bedrooms, our bathrooms.
We would do it,
At the dinner table
With a butter knife.
If it was just for attention, if you noticed
We’d say “yeah, feel sorry for me yet?”
We wouldn’t say “it was the cat”
Or “just a scratch.”
If we did it for attention,
Why would hurt this bad?
Every day you wake up with a constant reminder of the things that you did,
All of the tears that you cried,
All the fights that you lost to the monsters screaming inside your mind,
“Help me!”
Help me, two simple words.
A cry for help most people never heard
Before she buried herself in the ground.
But yet we knew,
We could see it behind every bracelet stacked on the next.
The way she always wore long sleeved shirts in the summer.
The way she grew silent as if her soul was being crushed into a metal form.
Like being put in that casket.
What people don’t realize is she was one of 13 million kids from 6-17 every that **** themselves every year.
That is 13 million people that needed help,
But yet, in our society if someone wants to die,
They’re crazy.
But what is crazy?
Crazy is killing your best friend by ignoring her cries.
I am crazy.
She had schizophrenia.
And bipolar disorder.
And dysthymia, which is basically just a complicated term for depression that doesn’t go away.
And yet, she never knew it.
She never knew that it was curable
Because every second she thought about herself.
All she thought was “attention seeker”
She never got help because she didn’t want them to know how bad it was,
Or how much she needed them.
And, I know she told me once before,
“I want to die.”
But yet, I heard stuff like that all the time,
Not from her, but from people who don’t know what it’s like to wake up every morning, but yet never wake up.
To be addicted to the razor like a drug
Every cut, every little bit of blood that bleeds out.
Is one less thing, you have to worry about.
So don’t you dare tell me I am an attention seeker!
Because, if I wanted you to know.
I’d do it, on my face.

Our English language? A curious thing!
Hammers don't ham and fingers don't fing,
Grocers don't groce and ushers don't ush,
And why is a rear called a toosh, not a ****?
What is the plural of mitt? Is it mitten?
And what's a caboodle if there is no kit'n?
Do women count coins when they go through their change?
Is all lucre filthy? Are bedfellows strange?
You can't have the willie, the heebee or jitter,
And patter is noisy unless it's with pitter.
If a guy's queer, is he gay or just odd?
And if a girl's skinny, is she still a "broad"?
Can you do a flip? That's an interesting word...
Flip a house or a pancake or even a bird!
You'd never say fum without fee, fi or foe,
And why do we go to the bathroom... to go?
Slim chance or fat, they are one and the same,
And **** can be naughty unless it's your name!
So if you love words and you don't take them lightly,
You'll find by and by that you can-can write rightly!

Source: http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/war-of-the-words#ixzz35Z943NKD
Family Friend Poems
Our English language? A curious thing!
Hammers don't ham and fingers don't fing,
Grocers don't groce and ushers don't ush,
And why is a rear called a toosh, not a ****?
What is the plural of mitt? Is it mitten?
And what's a caboodle if there is no kit'n?
Do women count coins when they go through their change?
Is all lucre filthy? Are bedfellows strange?
You can't have the willie, the heebee or jitter,
And patter is noisy unless it's with pitter.
If a guy's queer, is he gay or just odd?
And if a girl's skinny, is she still a "broad"?
Can you do a flip? That's an interesting word...
Flip a house or a pancake or even a bird!
You'd never say fum without fee, fi or foe,
And why do we go to the bathroom... to go?
Slim chance or fat, they are one and the same,
And **** can be naughty unless it's your name!
So if you love words and you don't take them lightly,
You'll find by and by that you can-can write rightly!

Under this same
leaden sky,
there are millions
like me.
Each caught
in the cyclone
of their own
lonely hour.
Whose blue hearts
shiver violently
and yet burn
for something,
for someone,
for anything.
As long
as we have each other,
we are not alone.
I am not alone.
This is I tell myself,
always.

Let me fly,
But don’t lose hope,
Let me fly,
But don’t let go

My place is above the world,
Where I can be free as a bird,
Figuring out what goes on in this soul of mine,
Pondering that I am like no one else that I know,
I retreat to the skies,

We all have to go home sometime.

I have been in the world with you,
Not even noticing the time,
Not even glancing up at the sky,
Forgetting for a moment that I am an enigma,
A puzzle in a motion

You’ve done what no one else could,
Keeping a wild wolf by your side,
But every wolf has to wander on it’s own
Howling to the moon and stars,
Finding it’s center,
But always coming back home

Listen for my howls in the distance,
Letting you know that I’m okay,
Telling you that I love you,
Even though I stay away

Let me run,
But don’t lose hope,
Let me wander,
But don’t let go,

Gym ****** eyes me
I've lifted more than I should
I banged him later