This one is for the girls
For the girls who wake up at the crack of dawn
To stare down the standards of beauty built by a society
Who says that your bones are more beautiful than your curves
That your ****** has more value than your words
This one is for the girls who go through their day
Expected to only to smile
Only to say happy words
Even if their world inside is crashing around them.
This one is for the girls
Who endure the side glances,
Because they don't fit into the cookie cutter
that has been so strategically built
By the media
To break down the strong mind of girls and to leave in them in a heap on the side of the road
So that the only time they feel beautiful
Is when they hear catcalls of the passers byers
Leaving them starving
Starving their body
starving their mind
Little by little killing the spirit that was once so strong inside them
And yet all concerns seem to be silenced
This one is for the girls who
Cut open the cookie cutter that has been created
To cut the independent woman down to size
Who carve out a door way in this cookie cutter
As a light to shine at the end of the tunnel
This one is for the girls
Who never lose hope
For the girls who refuse to allow their ****** to hold their entire self worth
This is for the girls who
Refuse to allow the mass media to tell them that they are not beautiful
For the girls who have become the shining star
For the girls who are still discovering their own strength as their wound heal
This is for the girls searching for hope in a dark place
Hoping to find stars in the sky that are close enough they can touch
This one is for the girls
Keep on going
Don't lose yourself in this world
Hold your head up high

And show them the strength of a woman.

Whoever said crying infront of people is some sort of a weakness is utterly wrong.
Because when someone cries they are being brave. For they are laying out their vulnerability , *their weakness, by the feet of everyone. They are taking the *chance of getting hurt at their softest and probably most influenced moment.
When someone cries it means that they can't defend themselves easily. And they aren't wearing a mask to hide themselves behind a smiling exterior. It is so rare when someone bares their soul out for everyone to see - even for a minute.
The fact that they aren't pulling their guard up is hard to do. The fact that they are letting you know that they are not okay is not an easy thing.
And then people start laughing at them
They laugh at someone who is crying.
Saying that those tears are 'fake'.
Saying that it's only for 'attention.'
You know what that does for the people who just cried?
Those people shut. Close themselves. Build a wall around their heart. And make sure that their barriers are tighter.
How sad is that though...
**That one of the most strongest things man can do,
has been reprimanded silently by those
who don't know how to deal with it

I wonder how much longer I can run
Before the shadows which haunt me finally
**** me
I wonder if I can be strong
If the small things which tug, now finally yank.
I wonder if I can hide
If the trees than concealed me, are slowly burning down.
And I wonder if I will survive
Because everyday I feel like I'm losing a small part of myself
To the void which rests in my heart.

When I'm down, when I feel worthless
When I feel like I'm only the beginner
I try to remember
That the greatest started from dust.
The winner was once the beginner
And that the glass came from the sand.

Along my Ivory skin, the drops of cerise spreads - delicate tendrils forming beyond each space,
Words of hate marr my sheet as I press the object drawing blood.
With each laceration forming on pearl, a small tear escapes my eyes. The pain is too much yet I have to bear it to show that I'm alive. And I form the scarlett words on my pale canvas as I cry. My frame spreads with stone, a newly formed statue, as I watch the Crimson ink spreading. As it grows larger, black spots form and visions become blurred. The reality and memories merge as one and I form more words with my pen.
horrible
worthless
liar
ugly
And as I hear each voice screaming in my head, my hands rush as cuts become deeper. A whole sonnet of hate drowns my heart and fresh salt tears are created. Lines tear at sheets, jagged curls are formed. And with an anchor at each eye I look down on what I have made.  And my tool of blood, my ebony pen silently replaces the steel knife I had.
And a small smile is shone as I raise my new creation.
A paper full of cuts.

Even the most darkest of voids
Can dream about the most purest of lights.

The hate that I possesed strong, a monster
Darkened the purest lights of my soul.
That's the sad thing about hate
Even if you let go of it,
The darkness will never wash off properly.