i feel disgusting.
i feel the worst i have felt in a very long time.
i don't write in journals,
for i fear my minds self-destruction.

i feel pathetic.
more and more each day.
when i realize that i am the one who cannot stand to be without you.

maybe my mind is playing tricks on me.
making me think that you think that i don't matter.

it's just really hard only having one person you want to talk to all the time.
****. what the hell am i even saying.

this fruit is rotting on my tongue.
and i just feel like crying.
this stress just seems to grab with with it's large meaty hands and suffocate me until i cannot focus.
i'm a morbid wallflower with no real intention on getting better at talking to people i don't know.

i was a young girl,
the age of fourteen,
when my friends were paperback novels.

when the kids used to laugh at me in my face.

i wanted to disappear from the terrible world i was born into.

i found refuge in the yellowed pages,
where the story was not my own,
where their troubles related to mine.
these characters were my only friends.
they held my hand when i cried.
when i was made fun of for being so **** antisocial.

the endings made me so sad.
it was an internal death of an unknown,
unacknowledged soul.

i was the child who read on the bus,
who stayed up too late to read the last of the old pages.

they inspired me to be free.
to live life the best i could.
they gave me hope for a happy ending.

at the age of fifteen,
i scarred my skin.
i'd forgotten the happy endings i used to read about.

i felt like a character in a book when i wilted inside.
when i took the painkillers,
hoping for an overdose.
it was an internal death of an unknown,
unacknowledged soul.

i woke up at the first hour of the day,
unsuccessful,
but successful.

i scribbled on the blank pages of books,
i wrote my soul on the pages and it poured out on the floor like an acidic pool of experiences.

i was a damaged soul,
but daisies grew from the cracks of my heart,
and a new life was born inside an old one.

i am the worst person alive today.
i can't express myself either;
and that's really all i have.
without that i am nothing.
i am a blank sheet of school paper,
without lines,
without holes.
serving no purpose.

there is a fire burning inside of me,
creating a hole inside my chest;
full of disappointment,
sadness,
loneliness.

YOU ARE THE DAISY IN THE DESERT, PERHAPS YOU THINK YOU ARE ALONE
(if you don't count the grains of sand)
BUT SOMEONE WILL BE GLAD THEY FOUND YOU AND YOU WILL MAKE SOMEONE SMILE, PERHAPS CRY OUT WITH JOY.

YOU ARE MINISCULE BUT YOU ARE IMPORTANT.

DO NOT FORGET THAT.

my ghosts,
they turn to me in the night
they hold my hand when i am alone
they know my secrets
i cannot go on knowing my ghosts will forever hurt me

i need to separate myself from them
but they have become a part of my soul