she was like the moon.

a bright light with imperfections
but,
like the moon she had a dark side.
it was darker then black.

it was cold.
no one liked it there so they'd only stay when it was sunny.

she didn't want to be the moon,
the girl wanted to be the sun.

everyone loved the sun, bright, happy and vibrent.

she would give anything to the sun.
but,

she was like the moon.

sometimes to fix a broken heart,

you have to hurt it even more than the last time

it was in pain.

sometimes i want to take off my skin.
and show everyone what lies i hid under my complexion.

there is no where to run, to lies to hide behind

just the painful truth

the agonizing honesty i've hidden behind a simple smile.
the words i wanted to speak but never had the courage to say.

our skin is just something we hid behind to shield our real selves and our true form and what we all have under our exterior is the

s a m e.

we are all identical.

sometimes i scare myself so bad,

i want to runaway from my own mind.

bones.
i want to see more bones on my body.
i want to see the way the make crevices and bump out of my skin.
i want to be able to pinch my collar bone.

legs.
i want skinner legs.
i want to have a thigh gap.
i want to fit into a 000 jeans.

scale.
i want you to be lower.

what happened?
what happened to the sun being bright and beautiful?
when it kissed my shoulders while i ran with my mates
around the playground.

what happened to the times where protection meant wearing a helment?
when i didn't need worry about being a female,
being catcalled or molested.

where my only care in the world was being first in a race to the
school line.

what happened to the times where i could eat and not worry about the calories i'm eating?
what happened to not caring about still being able to fit a fist between my thigh gap.

why did i have to grow up?
i've lost my child-likeness.
my innocence left after i hit puberty.

society says you can't be sad.
s a d.
s
  a
    d
   a
s.

what happened to being able to cry and not judged.

what happened to the times where i actually wanted to live?
see to world.

what happened to me?

we're pretending that we're so cool,
with our terrible dancing and music

but we keep doing what we do.

we were ballistic until the sun rose.

jumping around to the same five lyric-less songs
not dancing, jumping.

our society is messed up,
but for that moment,
that night,

we were okay.

we lived with nothing but our hearts upon our sleeves.
our smiles weren't fake that night,

just 68 thirteen year olds having the time of their life with out their parents for 4 days.

there was no drinking or ****,
we were high off of each others energy.
we were feeding off it.

i felt alive.

i saw the world in colour.

you popped my bubble gum heart,
with five simple words.

"i don't love you anymore."

now all that remained,
what i've left unsaid,

"but i still love you."
is what i feel for you.

like chewed up gum,
worn-out and colourless,
is how i feel without you.

what happens when one star dies, in the sky of one million?

does the whole sky seem dimmer?

or does it stay the same?

have you ever gotten your heart broken?

i have,
it was terrible.

it was so unbearable that i shut it off.

i turned my emotions off.
i gave up happiness to not feel pain.

i couldn't handle feeling.

so i thought,

the best way not to get your heart broken is to pretend you don't have one.

14 year old girls in my high school are out here getting pregnant, mean while i cant even get a boy to text me back?

little girls don't play with dolls.
they paint.

deep paintings and the thin.

a blade, her brush.

her wrist, the canvas.

the little girl only used red when she painted,

and her paintings would never leave her body.

they would stay there, reminding her of every emotion she
illustrated on her pale body.

the girl was a painter,
a true artist.

never had she wanted to become one,
but she did.

little girls don't play with dolls.
they paint.

you shot in the heart
with four simple words,

"i don't love you"

you tried fix it with a "sorry"

but that was like putting a band-aid over a bullet wound.

yes i am young,
i am a child,
i have yet to experience the world.

maybe i don't know what love is quite yet.

but i do know what i feel
or felt
for someone i held dearly.

i may be an adolescent, but when i first turned 13

i knew i have experienced love.
not true love, but love,

do not tell me how i feel and how i don't
or how i should or how i shouldn't.

i met someone i loved at a juvenile age.

yes i am young
i am a child,
i have yet to experience the world.

maybe i don't know what love is quite yet.

but i know how i feel.

Russian dance,
Russian dancer.

perfect movement,
timing jointly along with your group.

charming steps,
do not fall.

long red dresses,
nylon tights under.

impress the elders with your complicated,
yet beautiful dance.

dance like a beautiful Russian doll.

when did my safety,
become victimized by a gun?

what made you want to s
                                             h
                                               o
                                                 o
                                                   t   a gun at our future?
what made you want to h
                                          u
                   ­                      r
                                       t  us?


when did my safety become the 2nd priority?

i'm lost in an ocean,
sinking in quick sand thats not so quick.

slowly i'm sinking deeper and deeper each day.
and you're just watching from the side lines.
you wont throw me a rope
or help me.

you just silently watch me.

when i finally drown you say you didn't see the signs.

but darling.

you drowned me.

my illness is something that is apart of me.
it is solely not me.

it is not the only thing i focus on.

whenever i tell someone i suffer from a mental illness, they have more questions then i can count. also including some accusations and negative comments.

but if i tell them about me, they reply with a "cool" or a "nice." and don't seem interested at all.

everyone seems more interested in MY mental illness, not ME.

i am not my illness.

i don't say "hi, i'm depression"

no.

i do say "hi, i'm laura"

yes i have an illness, it is a part of me.

but not me

i do not write poetry.
i do not write poetry, my soul touches the blank paper and blurts out some truth.

i am not a poet, i do not write poetry.
i am not a poet. my heart spills the ink onto the page and lets me take credit. i do not write poetry, my soul touches the blank paper and blurts out some truth.

i am not original, i am not a poet, i do not write poetry.
i am not original. i copy a poem that my mind already wrote and then i plagiarize it. i am not a poet. my heart spills the ink onto the page and lets me take credit. i do not write poetry, my soul touches the blank paper and blurts out some truth.

i am not original, i am not a poet, i do not write poetry.

i am trying to cut myself out of this body.

when its at the end of your road, where do you hide?
where do you seek?

whats the point if your at a dead end?
its a long painful road.
like walking on hot charcoal without shoes.

whats the point in this?
i don't know the right road.

this is the only pathway i've known.

can you hear my screaming silence
from where you're sitting?

can you hear my bleeding depression that seldom
slips out of my pale moon lips?

can you see my suffocating pain thats written in my eyes? its in fine print, but it is there.


can you see me? i am dying.

my brain is working overtime

until it eventually

breaks

as a child i used to have to bright, succulent, emerald eyes.
behind the lids of my eyes there was an over powering light that never blew out.

now as a just-turned-teen, i have dull, grey, eyes that lost their sparkle.
now, behind my eyes lids is something worse then pandora box's contents.

then there was the light i owned.

it's is dull and black and i wouldn't call a light anymore, it was more of a

bright darkness.

"Just cheer up! you ungrateful brāt!"


would you tell a cancer patient to just get better?

has it ever rained blue so long you started to get used to it?

i've gotten caught in a blue flood and right then and there i had to learn to swim.
on my own.
i pulled my self to shore.

has it ever sun shined yellow and you didn't know how to think or act because you've been stuck in the blue rain for years?

i think thats when it becomes frighting,
when you feel more comfertable in the pouring rain
than do you in the yellow sunshine.

maybe thats when it floods black tar,
******* you deeper in the sadness,

but, it is not sadness, it's almost a sad numbness

and tar slowly takes over my body leaving a black thick layer over top of my porcelain exteroir.

it slowly takes over my whole body,

it's slowly getting worse.

it hurts.

tears ran down my pale dead-like face like an Olympic track race.
standing on the scale with noting but my bare flesh.
no clothes no hide behind.
just me.

at that young moment, i suspensefully realized that i wouldn't be happy until i was down to zero pounds.

at that oppressing second i wanted to get better.

but if i get better i wont be beautiful and thin.

i will not be happy until i get to zero pounds.

depression is like being colourblind.
expect your colourblind to happiness.

you know it exists and you know its there.

and you want to see it.

but you see you see the world in the lens of depression.