I feel cold in every tiny vein!
In every second, every part of me is deprived from life!
As if the Hope I had with Love being euthanize!
I won't feel the warmth anymore!
                           I won't feel Myself or My Heart anymore!
                                      I've been discharged from....
                                                       Life!

The only patience we had for belibers was spent in a quick game of operation and listening to the music their god produced, who may I mention is the age of *******. Let me be clear Justin Beiber the death of your belibers was no accident actually it was a genocide. Our purpose was to take out your dooncoff belibers and believe us it worked since your here to see them go 6 feet under beneath us. Don't get jealous cause you're next, yes this is a eulogy but low key this is a meeting on taking you out. First we take out the army now we moving onto the commander slash general. we're going to assassinate you, my bad that implies you're famous, we're going to euthanize you put you down like a dog but its not going to be a one and done shot, naw, ima have more arms on stand by like a centipede using the 2nd admendment to the fullest extent of the law , my bullets will be hitting on you so much that you will think they was flirting with you just like start of your euthanized dooncoff belibers club.

According to my mom and dad, when I was little, I used to say that I wanted to be a garbage truck driver. Yeah, I know — literally dumping trash and pumping gas isn’t something a typical four-year-old girl wishes to grow up to do. It impressed me how the men rode, clinging onto the back end of the truck, pushing buttons to crush the unwanted goods to dust. Although I am sure it would have been more appropriate for a young lady to look up to Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, I looked up to those men because they appeared fearless and strong. I never really liked the “girly” things my parents and sisters gave to me. In fact, when Barbie smiled at me through a plastic window, I took her out, tore her head off and threw her body to the dog. I should have loved the color pink and liked the smell of daisies; I didn’t. I was ridiculed for hating both and told I shouldn’t be so different.
When I turned six, my grandpa gave me a book about prehistoric beasts. I couldn’t read well, but I liked the pictures and the long words with plenty of strange letter combinations. Words like “pterodactyl” and “brachytrachelopan” fascinated me, and made me feel exceptionally intellectual just to know how to pronounce them (even if I did so poorly).  When asked, I proudly responded, “I want to be a paleontologist when I grow up!” Adults praised me for being so intelligent at such a young age, and I felt special. But one day, I learned that bone diggers don’t make much money. So, I changed for a few extra thousand dollars a year.
By the age of eight, I decided I wanted to become a veterinarian because that’s what my best friend wanted to be. She loved animals and said we should help them because they can’t help themselves. I took a bite of the pie graph, “Occupations Wanted By Children.” It tasted bland and watered down but it made me normal to want that for myself—even if it wasn’t my own dream. My friends and I babbled about having every species imaginable for pets and loving them more than Romeo loved Juliet. But when my mom told me that I might have to  euthanize animals, the pie tasted a lot more ****** going down. I decided I should search for another job.
Around twelve, I started writing a journal. I named it “Joyful” because that’s what I felt the best emotion was and wrote in it occasionally during my sixth grade year. The pages were cluttered with names of boys I had crushes on and i’s dotted with hearts. I modeled my naivety through my entries but it was motivating how I could see my style and thoughts developing over time. My entries went from “I love the sky!” to “When a cloud drifts just in the right position next to the sun and makes that golden ray, I feel as if God’s finger is pointing down to a specific thing he created and saying to us on Earth, ‘Hey, see that thing over there? Yeah, I made that and it’s beautiful. It deserves respect.’”  I have smashed windows in the writing process and let in drafts of fresh ink. I am aware that being a writer in most cases makes a person financially deprived, but that won‘t affect my aspirations. Writing has been my dream since sixth grade and even now I know I’m not perfect but at least I’m pushing myself to be better. I’m changing for me.
No matter how adamantly I’ve tried or how much I realize that writing is sometimes harder than brain surgery, I don’t seem to slice it out of my life. Societal success is measured in dollars but if dreams had monetary value and salary was how badly a person wanted to make that dream come true, I would be paid more green than the Earth has blades of grass. I shouldn’t have to explain to people why I don’t want to be a garbage man or a paleontologist or a veterinarian, or why I don’t want to live by their popular choices. For all I know, I could be the best waste manager that ever had the pleasure to take away last week’s paper. I could strike it rich by discovering a billion-year-old algae. I might save the next Lassie or Winn Dixie. It isn’t up to other people to decide what I want to be when I grow up (if I ever decide to). Instead, I’ll write in spite of everyone else — for the ones that didn’t follow their dreams and strived for physical wealth. If I am to be paid in blades of grass, I will live. And I will die knowing I am one of the few to see a such a gorgeous, glistening, green meadow.

Release me from this hell hole
Of feelings not yet felt
Of words not yet said
Of people not yet met
Of relationships too soon set

Release me from this hell hole
I beg of you, please
I cannot sit here and listen
To the petty problems of
Society. Especially when they
Fall out of my mouth.
How could I be affected
By crap that has no meaning?
Why do I pretend that any of this
Will matter in the end?
Why am I so ignorant of
The life I should be living?
How could I take part in being
A normal teen, when that right
Was taken at birth?

There are issues and problems
And then there is my life.
The embodiment of disappointment,
My life serves the perfect example
Of what happens when cultures are
Mixed by the hands of inexperienced
Adults, that think they know best.

After My Little Black Dog Died of Melanoma.
After the Lumps on Her Small Brittle Body Slowly
Burned to a Pile of Ash in the Vet’s Office.  After My Step-Father
Drove in His Ostentatious Truck to Pick Up Her Remains.  After I Cried
in My Dorm Room and Tried Not to Wake My Roommate.  
Realization that My Loss Does Not Make Me Different.  There Are
Graveyards That Span For Miles and They Are Filled With More
Dead Bodies Than I Have Ever Seen.  There Are Hundreds of
Thousands of Children in the Foster Care System That Have
Never Met Their Parents or Maybe They Did and it Just Didn’t Work Out.
Kids Who Might Have Lived With Their Terminally Ill Parent(s) For Years
Not Just Days.  Kids Who Never Sat in the Opened Up Trunk of Their
Mother’s Black Nissan Pathfinder at the Drive-In Movies.  Kids Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Old Grandparents or Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Dead Grandparents.  Kids Who Were Never Told Not to Throw Snowballs Because There Might be Big Chunks of Ice in Them.  Kids Who
Never Had a Childhood Dog to Cry Over.  Kids Who
Don’t Like to Read Because They Were Never Read
Bedtime Stories When They Were Younger.  Kids Whose
Mothers Never Called Them Tweetie or Pumpkin or Honey or ***.  
Kids That Were Not Told to Just Go to the Bathroom When
Their Tummies Hurt Instead of the Health Room.  Kids Who Never
Listened to the Spice Girls’ Album Spice World on Cassette on the
Way to the Store.  Kids Who Never Got a Peach Drink Out of a Vending Machine at the Pick’N’Save on 27th  Street and Still Don’t Know
Exactly What 50¢ Peach Drink Their Mother Bought For Them.  
There Are Thousands of Dogs Euthanized Each Day Because of
How Sick They Are or Because They Were at a Shelter For Far Too Long
or Because They Are a Pitbull or a Rottweiler or Some Other
Irrationally Feared and Disliked Dog Breed.  We Didn’t Euthanize My
Stage-Four-Cancer-Stricken Dog or Even Get Her Treatment Beyond
Pain Medicine Because We Were Selfish.  We Do a Lot of Things Because
We Are Selfish.  We Waited Five Days to Pull the Plug on My Vegetable
Mother Because We Were Waiting For a Miracle That We Knew Would
Never Happen Because She Stopped Breathing the Moment the
Aneurysm Burst.  My Sister is Getting Married in June and My
Grandfather is Going to Walk Her Down the Aisle in My Mother’s
Place.  My Grandparents Had to Move In With My Sister After My
Grandmother Fell Down Too Many Times and Didn’t Take Her Health
Problems Serious Enough.  There Are Repercussions For Thinking
You Are Safe When You Are Really Not.

He left this place just so he'd never have to look into his own eyes again.
I'd leave this place just so I can look into his eyes again.

I remember being small
The adults were in charge
They knew what they were doing

If something made me sad
It was going to be okay
If I was mad
I got told to calm down

I was stubborn
I fought
I resisted
But I listened

It took becoming a parent
To understand
You don't know what the ******* are doing either
Even though you might know a little bit more

The worst day of my life back then
Was if my bike tire was flat
Or my videogame wouldn't work
If I didn't get my way,
I would selfishly act like a ****

Being a child and innocent
Slipped out of our fingers
At a speed we couldn't stop
Never seeing the picture for how big it really was

My first role in being an adult
Was having my first dog
And taking it for walks

You have to take a **** at 2AM?
Sure, why not?
I will take you out
Because you are my friend

The love I felt for this dog, and friend
Was put to the test
When it was hit by a cab
My choice to euthanize
My friend, her end

I joined the army
Only a year or so after
And became a father somewhere in the mix

I've always treated my son
Like a future man
Not telling him what he can't
But what he can

I understand the pain of being a parent now
But I accept this blessing as something true
I wouldn't trade it for the world
Would you?

Drown Cincinnati, drown!
We sang from the balcony,
Give up your blood and sweat and be cleansed!
And as they drowned below they called to me for help,
But I'm sorry brothers, I have looked in to the gaping jaws of Hell and I cannot go back!
Euthanize your idols, burn your high fashion statements!
Build a bonfire of your vanities!
Your ancestors ***** the Native American people and now you bear their graven image on your T-Shirt
Oh but how they were HOLY
Holy is the slogan sewed in to the denim
Holy is anarchist ideal held together by safety pins and hairspray
Nursing at the breast of punk's decrepit corpse,
You read the eulogy, screamed "Anarchy in the UK!"
In to the microphone
Although you never left American soil

This loveless shell
Has
no pulse,
Just an ache.
Has
no emotion,
Only time.
No more friends.
No desire.
Countless scars.
Left in howling night,
infinitive.
Stripped.
Anonymous.
Wanting.
I'm not
afraid to die.
But mercy terrifies.
Euthanize
this wounded beast.


I am a ghost in your wake.

Maybe we were meant to drift apart,
Maybe you were meant to taste something sweeter.
And maybe I was meant to stay right here,
Maybe I was meant to be all bitter.

Maybe I was meant to watch people fall,
Maybe I was meant to write it down.
Maybe I was meant to stay right here,
Maybe I was meant to feel so down.

And maybe it wasn't meant for me to touch love,
Or touch hearts, or veins.
Maybe it was meant for them,
So I could observe it and tell the difference.

Now it's all ****** up,
I was meant to grief for all that I've wasted.
I was meant to notice that there's no chance for me to win it,
I was meant to **** the person in the past full of happiness.
I was meant to be lonely.
Alone, Dark, Blue.
Whatever it is, I'm just sad
Or something more.

But maybe that's not it,
Maybe you're not the last.
Maybe I could still have a chance,
Maybe cupid still got his plans.
Maybe it was still the right decision,
Maybe the decision was for you to taste more,
To taste something better.
Maybe it was for you to evolve from a mud into a gold.
And maybe it was also for me,
For me to end what I've been destroying.

No!
It is not you who I've been trying to euthanize.
It was me all along,
You've received your freedom.
You've told me that I am forgiven.

Maybe,
Just maybe..
It's time for me to forgive myself,
And share my deepest ******* affection again.