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Rose K 15h
i can’t form the words
to tell you how i feel,
and even if i could,
no words could expresss
the pain that i feel.
i still can’t believe
you would do this to me...
Becca 16h
tears feel good on my raw, cut skin
maybe that's why i cry so much
Becca 16h
i know
i have no worth
i know
i can't help it
i know
i'm the opposite of pretty
i know
i know
CryBaby Di Nov 30
Sometimes you just have to accept the things that you cannot change.
Like, you can compulsive lie your *** off but it still cannot change what is true.
They say that the truth is the
hardest pill to swallow,
so instead I crush it up and I snort it.  
Even if there were things that I could change I fear I'll just make it even worse,
so I mission abort ****.
I lack the ability to actually change me,
and my courage is cowardly.
I'm hopeless, but I really do hope
that things will hurt less.
I'm useless, but I don't think that
I'll ever use less.

If not this, then it would be that.
It's all relative Nonsense where overall
you were just another substance.
But who am I to deprive misery of
its love for company,
honestly how could I possibly
maintain stability and be granted
any serenity, when all that is
surrounding me and inside of me is constant insanity ?..

Yeah, it's called Drug Abuse,
but is the term "Drug Abuse"
and the overall meaning behind it
really that simple ?..
In which being limited to the technical bottom line meaning and stating that by doing drugs you are abusing those drugs.
Where in other words the users
are apparently the abusers of the drugs that they use,
but isn't it possible that the drugs
actually abuse us too ?..
Pain in my chest,
I wish I could feel nothing.
I know it sounds bad,
But you’d get it if you could feel what I’m feeling.
Pain in my mind,
Because everything seems wrong.
I just want to be myself again,
Because then I’d be happy.
I’d smile everyday, like I used to,
But now I just imagine the worst and need to hide.
Hide away in my room,
in my own sad, little, imaginary world, where everything is perfect, especially me,
Pretending to be someone I’m not.
The worst part of that though,
That’s when I’m happiest,
When I imagine being someone else.
But it helps, hiding in my own little world. Listening to that kind of depressing music,
Relating to the pain of others.
It helps, ya know?
Knowing that you’re not alone,
I guess that’s why I’m writing this.
I hope you know you’re aren’t alone.

I want help, I need help,
But I don’t know how to get it.
I tell my parents,
I ask to see someone,
They say yes,
And then I wimp out.
I say I’m fine,
I hide, and I lie.
Maybe cause I’m afraid, or maybe because I’m just lazy.

Everyone just thinks I’m emotional.
And yeah maybe I am,
But I’m also struggling.
I cry so much because I feel so much.
Some things make me snap,
It’s like I lose control of my body.
I want control back,
I want it so bad.
I want to be happy.
*** can I be happy?
What’s the point of all this?
What is life for I don’t get it?
Why do we have emotions?
What is happening?
Why do I dream of my own funerals?
Why do I dream of other family members funerals?
Do I want attention?
Do I want sympathy?
Maybe.
Or maybe I just want to know that somebody cares.
Do you ever feel like no one cares about you?
You give and give,
and they just take and take.
I have that feeling at least everyday.
At the end of the day though,
I have nothing left to give.

Pain in my chest
I wish I could feel nothing
I know that sounds bad
But you’d get it if you could feel what I’m feeling.
It gets better
My breath hitched as I let go of her hand.

I let her go.
She looked back and all I could do is walk away.
...she didn’t care.
She never did.

And guess whose fault it is to think she did?
Desire 2d
You don't love poetry.
You love being depressed.
Your writings are true and have influence,
but they're only depression expressed.

I respect how you feel,
and please continue to write,
but may we realize poetry's purpose
revealed, in its history, is to shine light,
on your entire story -
not just the ones that hurt.

Tell the world of who you are
and how you strive to shake off your dirt.
Highlight what helps bring healing,
because others are also depressed.
No one needs to be reminded of
their damaging stress that they've suppressed.

"Happiness is a choice"
I challenge you to loudly make that expression.
Poetry makes people happy;
Its an art collection of life-lessons.

Poetry is an art.
Its ideas, creativity, and feelings,
social and racial issues unveiled,
Poetry is revealing.
Its also reflection,
of past and present events.
Poetry instills future hope,
painting pictures,
It represents...
Its a praise report for the week.
Its the abstraction of ambiguous things.
Poetry can be figurative,
or an escape from our realities.
Poetry has history.
Poetry serves a purpose.
To single it in one direction
is a disrespectful disservice...
Do you really love poetry?
[Respect it]

Plot twist: You are poetry. Replace "poetry" with your name in the poem above and reread it.
[Respect yourself]
This poem is not intended to degrade depression. Depression is real. Depression exists. Depression is deep. And so this poem challenges all people to see life in a different way or different light, the same way poetry can be seen differently, and with a change in perspective, may one choose happiness. Depression is real, and so is happiness; happiness is a choice. When people move away from all the pain in their lives, and think about moments of joy, they can experience, again, the feeling of being uplifted...
Sometimes
I feel numb
I don't know why
It just washes over me
One minute I'm laughing
The next I'm staring blankly at the wall

I've convinced my myself that I do this on purpose, chanting in my head every Night
I want to be depressed and numb
That I want to cry myself to sleep everynight
After i've purposley forced myself to create a river of blood flowing down my Arm

I do think I do this on purpose

When you've been sad for as long as I have
Wouldn't you?
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