Nobody
would've ever guessed that
I,
Maggie,
the crazy, joyful,
happy
one,
could've ever done what I did.
I, Maggie,
the one that prances around,
not giving a ****.
The one that
takes life by the hand and
pulls it along
after her;
while deep inside, she
scorns it.

As I smile on the outside,
no one can guess the amount of
pain
that my soul is putting up with.
I mask it with
false joy,
unknown to others and
unseeable
except for when I
slash it open on my
wrists,
legs;
My only weak spots.

And nobody would've guessed that
I,
Maggie,
the one who loves,
hated herself enough to try to
end herself.
They never could've,
though.
I gave them no reason to.
So why would I want them to think that I
did?

I blame the hormones.