blackened eyes
vicious rage
I flinch away
pinned under your glare
I feel like less then nothing
I look up at you
through a haze of tears
and watch your form
shift into something
unrecognizable
there you are again
the monster of my story

no matter how many times we say it
or how much we mean it
those people will never understand
that being a sad person
doesn't make you a bad person
that there doesn't need to be
trauma
there doesn't need to be
a reason
sadness is a feeling
it's not just a reaction
can't they see?
can't they see that only a person with so much hurt
and so much pain
can drag scissors across their arm?
can press that
blade
down on their SKIN
until it rips and blood beads
and mingles with tears of desperation
how can they not see that
there doesn't need to be a cause for the crippling
depression?
I can
because I feel it too.
sometimes you just need to be sad
so the happy days feel all the more brighter
everybody feels different
what might be a small ordeal to someone
might be the world ending to another
you
aren't
a
bad
person.
you
are
just
a
sad
person.
so please please please
throw away those awful blue things
you know what I mean
you don't need that reminder
please please please
put the sharp things away
not for me, for you
wear your scars
they are
tally
marks
of
the days you have overcome
you don't have to be ashamed
if people want to be ashamed for you
that's
their
problem
they are yours
they are all the reminders you need
of how
beautiful
and strong
and resilient
you are
because you keep fighting every
single
day
and that's more than I can say for most.
I will never stop caring.
I will never stop being here.
so please
let
your
world
BEGIN
everyday.
The days will hurt
Nights will sting
but you must never forget
how happiness sings.
Please.
❤

I no longer have the name I was given
when I was seven it was changed
"for your safety"
Like my mother would care enough to come find me
the only thing she cared about was her next fix
I didn't get a say in the changing of my birth name
They changed
One
Letter.
One letter later I had a different identity
I hated the name, told my adoptive mother so
every time she called me it I responded with
That's Not My Name.
but here I am, ten years later, responding to a name I hate
It reminds me that they didn't care enough to listen to me
That's Not My Name.
sometimes when strangers ask me for my name I am still tempted
to respond with the name of my past
it is beautiful, it was MY NAME.
All I wanted was to have an opinion, to be heard
To keep my name my name my name MY NAME.
That's not my name