i.
when will my hopes
become existent enough to pour out
                       words of sincerity  
to speak of a genuine warmth filling my chest
instead of the lines full of teenage angst
and the desperate cries of prisoners inside me
                       who are trying to escape
all I can think of are cliché sayings
that tell of gloomy times
occasionally ending with half-hearted
                       attempts at optimism
does that please them?

ii.
I give enough of myself away
that I am kept from prevailing
but keep enough behind my dialated pupils
                       and shaky hands
to never be trodden on or crushed to dust
I sometimes murmur the thoughts that
                       clamor my mind
but barely above a whisper because they will be misunderstood

iii.
reflections hit me seemingly everywhere I turn
the images on the water’s surface
the gaunt faces that stare back at me in the
                       broken glass
when I look into my sister’s eyes they
                       slap me in the face  
these are the many people I used to be

iv.
I want to be that person
that soul
who filled me to the brim
                       when I was shaking remains of
                       mulch out of my scuffed up sneakers
and running off to seek boundless amounts
                       of a word that never escapes my mouth anymore
I don’t want to be known for
spewing out pink pieces of pathetic misery
                       onto the white carpet
No one truly wants a sad girl
the reality is that they are not mysterious and full
                       of dark beauty
at least I am not

v.
I carry an expertise
of driving myself into a dark hole
making it powerful enough to either
                    drag others in or ****** them out
someone gets hurt either way  
I leave the classic images of sorrow
                    and dark-lined eyes
for my own destiny
I consist of burrowing under my covers
Laying unconscious until the sun disappears from my view