I don't think you understand
Why this is the way I am

You really need to know
Why my self-esteem's so low

You probably won't care what I have to say
But I gotta tell you anyway

You hate me, you rate me,
With your stupid words

But I just try to fly above them
Like a little bird

Though every time you say something mean,
It's like trying to shoot me down

And I don't have much of a choice
But to fall right to the ground

And you don't even have a clue
What those stupid words really do.

To get my point across
I must say it in the little lines
I'm not so good at putting words together
Making them work as a story
Finishing it
It just doesn't happen
So this is the best I can do
Sometimes I'll leave it in a cliffhanger
But sometimes
I meant to do it.

I'm not sure what I'm feeling inside
It's all wind and fire and ice
It's anger, but it's calm
It's like being underwater in stormy seas
Above me, there are crashes, screams, pain
And here I am, trying not to float up to it
Trying to hold my breath
For as long as possible
Before I have to join them
Or I'll drown

Beauty crowds me til I die
In the most peculiar places
A wave on the ocean front
A changing of seasons, autumn to winter
A choice
A kiss
A love
Beauty is all around me
Why am I not allowed to have it as well?

Bring me the sunset in a cup
And the sunrise in a kettle
I want to know what is hiding behind those mountains in the distance
I wish to hear the birds chirping sweetly in the morning
I have to see the clouds change color before my eyes go dark
I need to feel the chilled air on my skin
I must taste the rain that falls from the sky
Bring me the sunset in a cup
And the sunrise in a kettle

If I were to pour out my bag, myself, there would first be numerous scraps of paper, doodles and small notes. Then maybe some pieces of brightly colored cloth. There would be coins, representing all the change in my life. Miles and miles of film would fall down to the floor. Notebook upon notebook would slam on top of each other, filled with writing. Stick-on-the-ceiling-stars would fall down from the darkness inside the bag. Those are from my childhood. Caps from jars full of summer fireflies would drop down, making a ‘klink’ as they hit the ground. Socks with holes would float slowly to the landing. Pieces from board games, little Candyland men would tumble out, doing cartwheels through the air. Past trinkets and toys, a few postcards, jewelry from past generations, all things that are or were a part of my life….

Harsh I know.
These words from my lips.
But they must come out.
They must be said.
You must know the truth.
We loved each other.
Now there is only me.
And soon to be a child.
You left.
I am all alone.
I don't know where you are.
Even if I did,
I'm not sure I would come for your help.
You hit me.
It hurt.
I bled and bruised and you didn't care.
You watched me in pain.
And now our child may suffer because of it.
I have no money,
no support.
I will die alone.
I do not know what will happen to the baby.
My parents have both died in the last year.
I don't know how to say this,
I need help.
Not yours.
But somebody.