No, you're wrong.

Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly be

Particularly at lunch
in a laughing restaurant

Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly be

And they are moved
by their own beauty

And they shed tears for it
in the back of the taxi home

lately these images appear
uninvited
unwanted

but so very
real

a gun to my head
held in my own hand
finger on the trigger

afraid
yet
confident

I dont want this
but
my mind
pulls the trigger

every day

what do you do when happiness is
darkened
by your own mind

what do you do when your
own mind
tells you to die?

I dont want this
but
it won't stop

I have never wanted to believe in anything [you] so desperately.
I was clinging on to it, like it was the only way to breathe; only way to be free, imprisoning me from the suffocating society norms–
Waking up on the coarse sheets, smelling like roses and whiskey, your scars brushing my freckled delicately folded arms bathing in the morning rays,
Then your shadows trailed up, destroying every ounce of love you might have felt, why are you letting them drug you into never escaping this lonely eternity?
You were the prayer; you were the reason, was I ever enough?
I know believing in you is like asking for a car crash, but if it’s you then I want to bleed,
And taint every inch of your skin in my blood,
                        And mould every bone of our bodies into one and call you mine.
I want to hurt like that, like falling from the empire state, lungs choked and crashing into blindness, with ever tendon and capillary unidentifiable in the mess that’s been created
I want to breathe like that, like fire breathes in forest, but that’s the way you are breathing in my heart.
I want you to tell me you haven’t lost yourself to darkness, and there is still a spark of luminescence hidden underneath the gardens of nightshade –
Left in your soul waiting to be watered and nurtured like a seed, then growing into cherry blossoms –
Rather than a field of poisonous mandrakes.
And I wanted to believe I’ll be the redemption but my knives are blunt and they cannot unchain you and you aren’t realizing what it means to be alive.

Love is such a bad thing
I had to use hyped powers
to show that I was fine, when i was not

Everything decides to go ape-****
all the **** time

This is annoying

I like you! Please. How many times do i need to do this?
Give me a specific number and stop hating passionately.

It pains to know that I like you
but finding out that you hate me

i used to believe i was getting
better, but now i realize that i
never was. i have become an
addict, but not to a drug or
something of the sort. i am
addicted to my sadness and now
there is no hope left. you can't
save the damsel who's in love with
her distress. you can't beat the
villian when the villian has become
your only true compainion. you
can't get rid of the one thing that
has become all of you. you can't
and you never will.

you know what?
You are not worthy of me

I feel myself compelled to like you
and provide you with happiness
but you decide to not like it

you decide to be yourself, secluded
and unloved from someone who actually desires you

Fine, it was your choice.
But remember forever. That I like, love you.

I dont know for how long.
But forever is the perfect choice for right now.

11:22pm

Right now, as I sit here listening to Neil Young and allow myself to ponder over every little thing about my life, I have realized something that I should have became aware of a long time ago:

-I am not defined by my sadness-

Nor am I defined by the amount of times I've been dumped, or failed a test, or made some stupid mistake. I am not defined by my past, and I surely can't be defined by my questionable future. Why does it matter if I'm depressed, or if I **** at math, or if I don't have very many friends? These are all just tiny little fractions of the millions and millions of pieces that make up who I am as a person. And, to be quite honest; just because I'm sad, that doesn't mean that I have to be sad. I am completely capable of being happy if I want to be. I can do anything I want if I truly set my mind and heart to it. But the moment I let my sadness define who I am as a person, that will be the very moment when I lose all hopes for any positive change in my life.

Just because I'm sad, that doesn't mean I can't appreciate really good songs, or really good meals, or really good jokes. Just because I'm sad, that doesn't mean I can't laugh and have a good time with my friends, or discover all the beautiful things that life has to offer. Just because I'm sad, that doesn't mean I can't be happy, right? Because when you think about it, our minds are composed of emotion after emotion; ranging from complete sadness to hopelessness to anger to confusion to giddiness to absolute joy. So no, I am not defined by my sadness. But I'm not defined by my happiness, either.

I have strengths, and I have weaknesses. I make amazing progress only to watch it crumple in a single moment. I can go weeks -months even- without picking up the razor and drawing it across my skin. But the second I start getting those feelings again -those urges to distract myself from the emotional pain of a bad day by inflicting physical pain upon myself- that razor will be in my hand and before I know it, the familiar red drops will be trickling down my arms.

So yes, it's been hard. Life is hard. But if it was easy -if I didn't have to work my **** off to achieve the things I want- then would it be worth it? No. See, that's the thing about progress. When we want something, we get up and we fight for it. It might be difficult as hell but it's worth it because we know deep down that it's something we have to do for ourselves. Even if we make mistakes along the way, we learn from them and keep going until we can finally pat ourselves on the back and say I did it! And that right there, is the best part. The part where we can feel pride on the fact that maybe, just maybe, we are more capable than we thought we were.

It is now 12:06am and I would like to say one more thing:

I am 16 years old. I am still a child. I am immature, inexperienced, and still so uneducated. I have so much to learn, so much to experience, so much to live for. However, I have lived long enough to know that life is beautiful yet ugly, challenging yet worth it, infinite yet extremely finite. In that sense, I am terribly old. I am a teenager; a young adult. With 16 years under my belt, I should be able to say that I have been living life to the fullest. But I would be lying to myself if I did. I am so old, but mostly, old enough to know that I have done wrong. Old enough to know that I shouldn't have been letting my sadness define me.

And I am still so young...

But mostly, too young to not have hopes for a better future.
Too young to not have realized yet that *everything will be okay.