the truth is
i'm terrified. absolutely petrified. people think i'm ******* depression personified.
the truth is
i'm just as hurt as you, if not more. you shouldn't have lured me here. i'm sad and don't know what to do.
the truth is,
all i want is you to hug me and whisper in my ear "it's all going to be okay." and for it to be true someday.
im sad and im tired. im tired of ******* hiding it. here is my truth. im sorry.
when you were crying over him cheating on you with lily, you should’ve called me.
when he would slap you silly, you should’ve called me.
when you thought about taking your life because of him, you should’ve called me.
you shouldn’t have let him win. you should’ve called me.
but i wasn’t there...
this is a story about my friend being in an abusive relationship but she never told me until later. she should’ve called me.
when you see me, a girl with tan skin but her parents are black and white, what do you think?
do you instantly assume that my dad wasn't there? if you do, you'd be correct. do you think about whether or not i've witnessed violence? in and outside of the home? if you do, you'd be correct. do you think that i had to help with the bills because my single mother couldn't scavenge enough money to pay them by herself and no one would help her? if you do, you'd be correct.
truth is, i've never even considered being the definition of a stereotype. ever. people have always called me a "half-breed", a "*******", and infamously a "******" even though the hard r wasn't always pronounced. i've never been offended by their words though, my mom has taught me to have tougher skin than that.
i've always been a stereotype, though. i guess in some people's eyes that's all i am. a young girl living up to her background.
but the thing is, i know that i'm worth more than their insults, assumptions, thoughts, and doubts. i'm going to be more than a stereotype one day. mark my words.
i'm sorry that i couldn't save you, save myself.
i'm sorry that i'm imperfect.
i'm sorry that i'm negative.
i'm sorry that i'm not you.
i'm sorry that i'm me.
i've been listening to what people say and think for so long that i don't know how to stop doing it.
this poem is for all of you who do the same <3
it takes seventeen muscles to smile.
it takes forty three muscles to frown.
if it takes more muscles to frown then it does to smile,
then why does it take so much more effort to smile when you're sad?
or to smile in general?
i told you i wasn't feeling like myself.
i'm back to my old ways.
i'm back into not loving myself.
i'm back into hating how i look.
i'm back into not understanding why i'm here.
i'm back into the old me.
i don't wanna be, but i am.
hi. my depression is back and so here this is.
that's how its always been. what makes you think that you can change it with no explanation? no reason at all?
you're the water to my fire. you're the lightning to my thunder. you're the cat to my dog. you're the rock to my world. what in the hell makes you think that you can change that without any reasoning behind it?
we've always been there for each other. we know each other like the backs of our hands. you can't do this to me.
its always been you and me. me and you.
but then again, you're you, and i'm me.
you're the guy who is so outgoing, loving, loud, and funny, my god are you funny.
i'm the girl who always has headphones in. i'm quiet, shy, the outcast, only has like five close friends.
we're from two completely different crowds.
maybe it should stay that way.
i'm just not myself right now and don't know how to express it. i just miss him and i can't change that.