for you to *******
i dont want your attention
i never was seeking it
so ******* and take your *******
"attention" with you
because you wont understand
and you wont help
so ****
off

funny these poems of "love"
when i dont love you
im stuck on him
i love him
not you

everyone's poems are of love
beauty, how happy they are
and mine are of my reality
darkness, lost, sad, real
i want to die
and you are all saying
how you love your life
im glad im the only one

you're older than me
you know its not okay
why'd you let me get attached
then just leave
when you know i'm in pain
why

it doesnt faze me anymore
the cuts mean nothing
simply a way of coping
not eating, and vomiting everything
is just because im not hungry
the tears are simply water
it happens, just water
the bruises are just soft skin
not that i want it to bruise
suicidal thoughts are just me being pathetic
im really pathetic

tie my heart
get your lies and secure them
make sure they hold it
because my heart
is sure to fly

write me a poem of love,
remember to include
your love though

hide my heart, a booklet of lines
     etched as jagged ripped lines
glue your love to it
                           cover the holes
but they'll always be there

that bubble that rests
it may be my lack of food
but for some reason
i think its because
i miss you

sinking into a web of consciousness
tacky hands and feet
lightness of air
lost with beauty
smoothly lighthearted
and dangerously lilted
i wonder
if you'll ever realize i love you

(shhh its secret but..)
- a nail perfectly holding two surfaces together
- a flower growing from mud
- a **** protesting and growing in that tiny crack
- mould becoming penicillin and saving people
- that perfectly played set of notes
- officially ending another well written book

(don't look to humans
for perfection
there is no such thing
for the likes of us. no
we are all imperfect)

pain everywhere
what to do with life
backed into a corner
stop feeling anything maybella
hold it all together
                 no one can know
                 no one
           because they all hurt
they’ll all backfire and hurt
they don’t care
and if they do
    it’ll be gone soon
don’t tell them
hide it
hold it in
you’ll be okay soon
its just a little pain
    it’ll be gone soon enough
hopefully
keep dreaming mayb
                 you’ll trip
                 you’ll fall
just, don’t bring anyone with you
       remember that
don’t let it happen
don’t let anyone care
because you’ll care about them
         and we’ll both get hurt
you’re in a corner
stay there
befriend the corner
it cant hurt you
we’ll be okay maybella
but we just have to hold it in

running through grass as high as your calf muscles
                        you gasp for breath,
it fogs out in front of you as you pant;
its a cold night,
one where smart sensible people are indoors and covered,
                                                        huddled before fireplaces,
                                                      or cuddling up to someone.
lost in a field,
you look around,
                                          its too dark to see far but the moon is out
             because the fog is illuminant and pale everywhere you look.
there's an imposing figure,
                            you feel it getting closer,
hot breath near your right shoulder,
                            you shudder and try and **** away.
only to feel something cold.
a freezing breath on the opposite side of you,
                                                           it hugs you as you struggle.
                                 too cold,
                                 too cold you think,
                   too bitterly cold.
pushing off it your hand reaches something that bites with cold,
you pull away quickly and turn. as you turn around there's black.
you wonder where the moon went because the fog was white before.
no, now there's only black, yet glancing up you definitely see stars.
                                                                                                                       what's going on?
                                                                                                            why is this happening?
                                    you trip,
but its not the grass you trip over its nothing,
                                                   there is nothing there.
                                                                 nothing imposing.
                                                                 nothing.
                    why did you trip you wonder.
then you realize you didn't just trip you fell.
you just reached the next level.
                               something hits you hard as hot and cold figures cover you.
                                       screaming and gasping you're being burnt and frozen.
         you can struggle all you want,
but below there's only blackness,
                                    and above,
hot and cold burn you slowly.
dirt shoved in your mouth,
               gaged and held.
  there is no escaping.
        whatever it is.
it will burn your skin then freeze your heart and mind.

before?
shaking
craving
hurting
during?    \    \\
bleeding  \\
needing         \\
hurting   \ \      \
after?*
guilt
relief
pain

wake up in the morning
to light
that isnt as bright as it used to be
as a child age eight
light meant the start of a day
when the sun was only up for a few hours
it seemed
now
the light
is dull and drags me through the day
to the night
where everything slowly
cr    
    as
        he
             s
                          down
to smother
any inner light
i gained as a ten year old

i dont care anymore
i dont care for the light

i threw myself at my wall
over and over
kicks punches
hit it with my knees
elbows, shoulder, head
i wasnt trying to break through
not possible with
double brick walls
i guess it just
symbolized how
helpless i feel
when you say you dont eat
or sleep and can hardly move
i hid behind bruises and cuts
it hurts to move
i'm tired
but i'm still alive
and am willing to help
don't **** yourself
it'll **** me

my poetry is thoughts
about what i'm feeling
and yes,
everything i write
is about my life
i don't understand
how to not write
about what i'm feeling
because that is
why i write
to get out thoughts,
feelings, events, etc

i sleep
i get perfectly enough sleep
i'm not lacking
but i'm tired
i have no energy
i just want to sleep
for a little while longer
until my bones
no longer conform
and i cant
wake anymore

is it normal
to feel claustrophobic
inside my own skin?
                            skin that grew with me
as years passed
   burnt in summer sun
chilled in winter
               i think
                              the scar tissue
is making me
            claustrophobic
because i cant
breathe
               i'm stuck
here
inside this body
      and i want
to escape

thinking "small"
five days isn't much
but its the most
i've lasted for
some time

telling you.
asking for help.
pushing you away.

and i think that's a good thing
because i don't want anyone
to know what this pain is
so i know you don't
understand and i
am glad of that
accept it

when your body spasms
           you force back screams
the pain is inside
smashing your hand
          into your head
to make thoughts stop
to focus the pain
somewhere else
               clawing at skin
trying to stop that pain
                   internal pain
                       that echoes your head
          and radiates down your spine
     its an addiction
    to change internal pain
into external
                             so i can sleep at night
                                       dream (nightmare) free

i'm more ****** up than I thought
this ******* urge to cut won't leave me
alone, I'm lying in bed shuddering
twitching and spasming  
night one, and I know
I'm not strong enough
to last, it hurts

why are there people who believe its "poetic" to self harm
it frightens me that there are teenagers who are doing this
to themselves, they're self harming because they think it
is "darkly beautiful" or "sadly romantic" there is nothing
beautiful about the scars covering my skin there is nothing
romantic about being terrified someone, anyone, might see
them, these lines of weakness, that i've placed there myself
it's an addiction, a sick way i clean my head, because
the thoughts jumble up, thoughts of; missing, emptiness,
time, space, names, locations, people, dates, stories, sadness
wrongness, hurt, longing, hate, self loathing, destructiveness
i am no where near proud i fell this deep into a hole this dark
i'm scared of being close to people, i shut myself away,
starving myself to reach "perfection"
because maybe if i am skinny enough to be considered "perfect"
then people wont care, wont notice the pink and purple lines
covering my form. no. there is nothing poetic about sadness
nothing. so stop convincing yourself you want to be a sad
lonely, scared, self destructive "poet"