"Do you like writing poetry?"

It's a strangely
difficult
question to answer.
I do not
like
it.
I do not
love
it.
It's something I
must do,
just
as much as
I must breathe.
If I do not,
I die a little
inside,
and it is
a - part - of - me,
just
as much as
my lungs.

I wish I had more volume in my hair.
That's not that bad, right?
I wish I didn't have acne
And I wish my tummy was a little flatter.
i wish I didn't wobble when I walk,
I wish I didn't jiggle when I run.
It's not that bad.
I wish I didn't have plane brown eyes.
I wish I held onto secrets,
I wish I had more depth
I wish all these things
All these things that make up me were not me.

I wish to scar.
I wish to unlove as fast as I fall in.
I wish to have some sort of story behind my eyes behind the words that flow out of my mouth because even for me I'm nothing.

Because in the end,
I wish we all weren't just nothing's.

I hope I can live my life
Painting stretching sunsets
With my back against a wall
Breathing in ever so deeply

In a t-shirt and shorts
My hair tumbling loose
And paint on my hands
Humming peacefully.

do you ever just
walk down the street
because you want to feel the wind blowing against your skin
see the sun shining in your eyes
watch small buds bloom into beautiful flowers
hear the children playing on their bicycles
smell your neighbour’s freshly cut grass

I do this often
but not for satisfaction
or happiness
or joy
I do it to know that the life around me is still going
the people near me are still going on with their lives
to know the world is still turning
even though mine’s stopped

usually I do this about once a day
after I do this I rush inside
I run upstairs
add a few cuts to my collection
wipe away my fresh tears
apply makeup to my permanently tear-stained cheeks
and carry on with my life
it’s routine and I do it every **** day

my mom once asked me about it
“why do you always run upstairs after you step outside?”
“what do you do in the bathroom all the time?”
“why do you always wear long sleeves?”
“why are your eyes always red and puffy?”
“why are only your cheeks covered in messy makeup?”

you know what I told her?
I tell her it’s none of her ******* business
as long as I’m still breathing
I’m fine

she doesn’t ask me questions anymore
I feel bad that I was so harsh to her
but I didn’t feel like talking to her about it
because I’ve heard what she has to say
about depression and suicide
she thinks people are wasting their life being sad
when they have absolutely nothing to be sad about
she thinks people who are suicidal are ungrateful
because “god” gave them the gift of life
and they are ungrateful for wanting to end it
they are selfish for wanting to die
because they are hurting the people that love them

well you know what I have to say to that?
that’s a load of *******
because people don’t choose to be depressed
they don’t choose to be sad all the time
they don’t choose to hate themselves
they don’t ******* choose to wish they were dead

depression is not a ******* choice
suicidal thoughts are not a ******* choice
because if it was a ******* choice,
no one would **** themselves,
therapists would be out of a job,
happiness would be more common


you know,
so many people I talk to
think depression and suicide are silly
they think people who deal with these things
are attention-******
and it angers me so ******* much
it fills me with rage
it makes me want to punch a ******* wall
but then it makes me sad
because these people are my friends
my family
my peers
people I’ve known for so long
people who think they know me
they are calling me these things
without even knowing it

and it’s funny because you think you know someone
you think you know what’s going through their mind
you think you know when they’re happy and sad
you think you know them better than they know themselves
you think you think you think
but you don’t know
you have no ******* clue!
you don’t know I lie awake until four in the ******* morning
thinking about how much I hate myself
you don’t know I come home every day and slit my wrists
until they gush blood everywhere
you don’t know how much I wish I didn’t wake up this morning
wishing I would have just disappeared into infinity
you don’t know I have to go take a walk outside
and watch everyone around me go on with their lives
for me to remember the world isn’t crumbling down
even though it feels like it is
you don’t know that I put eye drops in my eyes
to stop my eyes from being puffy and red after I cry
you don’t know that by the time I fall asleep
my pillows are soaked in my tears
you don’t know that I have to use my curling iron to burn myself
so that I can feel something, anything
you don’t know that behind this smile I’m falling apart
and holding on for dear life
you just don’t know

well guess what?
now you ******* know
now you know that I’m the attention-*****
that I’m the selfish *****
that I’m ungrateful brat
and now I ******* know
what I am to you
all I ever will be to you
and that no matter how much I try to reason with you
try to change your mind, your opinion
I will never be more than what you think I am

so maybe one of these days
when you see me walking down the street
taking in the area around me
you will finally know what I’m doing
and you can finally understand why

Bright kid
Straight A's
Always quiet as a mouse

But nowadays it seems she can barely even leave her house

Can't breathe
Can't speak
Can't even walk down the street without help

The doctors don't know what her body is doing to itself

"Go there
Take that
Pull her from this, this, and that"

Late nights
No sleep
Is barely able to eat

There's something wrong
They know it's true
"The symptoms just aren't there," they say, "Where's the proof?"

Work piling up
Quizzes missed
How is she expected to finish all of this?

"Coughing?
Wheezing?"

"All of the above
Not to mention a killer headache
and a bit of a stomach bug"

"There's no temperature yet,
So all we can do
Is give her some Tylenol with Codeine
And see if it's just the flu"

Bright kid
Hardly an A in sight
Always quiet as a mouse
Except for at night

"Just breathe," I say to my friends when they have anxiety attacks
It is always my first step, before reminding them of all the cute cuddly things they love
But how can I breathe knowing what I've done and left undone?
How can I breathe with these words unspoken from my lips, that you are hearing from those who love you and you love in turn?
Atlas's struggles are nothing compared to the weight I bear stretched across my shoulders.
Jesus's cross is lighter by far.
But somehow, I manage to take an impossible breath with my chest tight.
I don't want to fail my friends
I've already failed myself
How do I take the next breath, knowing that the pain of failure will be right there with it?
It's not by reflex
I choose to breathe because one day I might be end up a success
All it takes is breathing