So this is a poem for all the people out there.
The people who used to live like they didn't care.
The ones scared to speak up.
The ones who always felt like they messed up.
To all of you who have a history.
It's that story.
The one that makes up you.
Yeah there are very few.
Few similar.
Many who have walked down the road you went down.
The road you ran to when you felt like nobody else was around.
There was always someone who saw your pain when you cried.
Someone who would have stayed up countless nights.
Someone who let go of themselves to make sure your alright.
So this poem is for all the recovering people.
The ones who feel like they were lost.
Hopeless even.
Relying on drugs, achohol, ***, and other outlets.
Personal my Ive found that you can't always have those to rely on.
Eventually they are gonna be the reason you refuse to carry on.
You are all so important.
You are all so different.
However you wound up where you are today,
Know there is important in your history.
Everything you've ever done has led up to someone.
I know friends who have gotten past everything that used to drown them. I'm so freaking proud of them.

Poisoning my undeveloped self at age fourteen with toxic fumes and deadly drinks that are meant for adults who want to have fun or detach for awhile. I didn't know rather it because I was trying to be happy or be someone else which basicly is the same thing. I longed to be someone else and achohol and cigarettes defined that someone. Drinking and smoking is for grown ups they say but I grew up fast.

All the voices here and there.
You are worthless screamed everywhere.
My thoughts scold me for the past.
She I knew you couldn't be in a relationship that last
Remember all the nights you spend together?
******* ****.
Hope you never get out of the depressed rut.
Go take another pill.
Drink till your guts spill.
Achohol poisoning might do you well.
That was why our relationship fell.
I got a habit.
One that became an addiction before I could grab it.
Remember the time the girls came and jumped me?
Left me there bleeding?
Yeah that was fun.
Who helped? No one.
I'm pathetic.
I'm a lunatic.
So drugged up I cant think straight.
So high I can't do great.
I'm an idiot.
Should have never slept with her.
She was my murderer.
I'm an idiot.

My body began to sink.
A wave of depression was sweeping me under.
I was low.
Back at the bottom of the ocean.
I had reasons on why I was drifting in and out of waves.
Being pushed by the currents.
Being drug farther down by my mind.
I shouldn't let myself drift like this.
I shouldn't let the waves of past push me down.
Too bad I don't control the ocean.
It controls me.
It decides if I will fly or swim.
Be caught in a storm or burnt by the sun.
That is reality for me.
This is reality.
The pain.
The silver blade breaking my skin.
The achohol drowning out the past.
The sleeping pills making me sick.
Then pain from people.
Friends ignoring me, not you Emily.
People acting like I'm a ghost.
The laughing.
Elementary school really ****** me up.
I think everyone is laughing.
It's killing me slowly.
I can't be in the same room as some people for fear one day I'll just break and beat the **** out of them.
God how I'd love makayla to do something so what happen in middle school can happen again.
Stupid lying jerks.
Afraid to trust.
Afraid to love again.
Unlovable?
That's a good description.
Untouchable.
That describes it...
Dead?
Spot on!