Thinking too much,
Will be the death of me.

It already
Almost was,
A few years back.

I'm much stronger now,
Much braver now
Than I was then.

Before I was apathetic,
And reckless.
I didn't care
If I lived
Or if I died
It didn't matter,
And I put myself in a plethora
Of dangerous situations
I narrowly escaped,
And I had only escaped
Because something in me
Made me think on my feet.

And I wonder if you would have
Understood
Or thought less of me.

I was a different person,
And after I lost that innocence
Or the only part of me that people care
If it's innocent or not
I began to not care
What really happened to me
And that was more dangerous
Than anything else.

A lot happened to me
That I had no control over,
That I had been forced into
Or worse, it had been forced upon me,

But there were other things I chose
That ended up being dangerous
And other things I did
That I'm lucky I got through
Without breaking entirely.

Most of these things
I did for people
Who threw me away.

And that's okay.
I don't need them.
Never really did,
When I stop to think about it.

But it hurts to think
They thought I needed them.

And I wonder if any part of you would have cared
About the sad goth girl,
Who used to walk with a doll in her arms,
Insisting to be called "Blood,"
And would lash out at those
Who dare harm anyone
She cared for.

Not much has changed,
I'm not sad anymore though,
And I'm not goth.
I prefer the names you call me,
Whether it be my own or something else,
And I'd still lash out though,
If someone tried to harm you.

Whatever.
Thinking too much.