She was beautiful in her desire to be free, in her hope for love; she was beautiful more in words than her apperance could ever say.
Most days she feels like a failure, caught in the trap of depression and over thinking.
She cried in the car but as she got closer to home wiped away the tears.
She would only be so weak alone, her mother could never know who she was because she wouldn't understand.
She ignored her problems for the millionth time that month, hoping she wouldn't have to wake up the next morning and have to face it.
She has always been a big girl, never finding the motivation to change.
Food makes her happy and brings her closer to the end.
She can't cry with a mouth full.
He soul shakes, feeling so unstable, she cannot steady her mind.
She wants happiness so bad but finds more pain at every turn.
Her past builds in her gut and her only hope for a future dies more each day.
She will never be the wife and mother she dreams of.
She will be the ashes that grow in the roots of saplings.
She is the lost girl, the gone girl, she is nothing and she is something and all she wants is an escape into the abyss.
Found this in a notebook still insanely valid today.