My life is composed of things I didn't ask for,
it has been overtaken by tears, sadness, and blades.
I don't know how this monstrous disease took over, it just did.
It was fine one day and the next- wiped from my memory.
I wish I could figure it out but
all I know is I am closed up tight like a shoe box filled with memories-
I am here, but I am stuffed away, ignored, and overlooked.
You ask why I have these issues and I can't tell you for fear of rejection
so I tear my skin open just to acquire the feeling of being alive
and I don't dare tell someone for they will say I am weak and pathetic.

I don't hate them
I'm Jealous
I feel ridiculous
While having this feeling of lament

Whenever I talk, always
I always get cut off
I feel out of place nowadays
Even if I try to fit in as I could be of

Every statement I say is being ignored
I'm just trying to be strong
But inside my heart, it's stored
The things I've been keeping for so long

I'm reaching my limit
I'm close to breaking
But, just smile at everything
Maybe that would lessen my agony in it

It must be nice to not be lonely.
To have such a place,
Where people smile; the same song.
I want to someday, sing along.
It's too bad that I'm not wanted.
No one wants to hear my voice.
At least not by choice.

There is a storm
A storm inside me that never stops
Lightening in my eyes
Thunder inside my heart
And darkness filling my head
But something is wrong
So very wrong
I am weak

They ignore me
Take me as a joke
Storms inside me get angrier
Breaking the docks
Flooding lands
Lightning gets stronger
Thunder gets louder
only to be muffled by silence
I am paralyzed
I am *weak

Sick of being the ugly friend
Sick of being the friend noone cares about
Sick of being the friend that has to try because noone else makes an effort
Sick of trying to help but being taken for granted
Sick of being the friend that always walks on the grass
Sick of being the friend thats last to get invited
Sick of being the friend that gets mad fun of constantly
Sick of being the friend that gets chosen last
Sick of being the friend that gets walked all over

Sick of being
Ignored
Invisable
Talked over
Pushed away
Used

Because I can only take so much
Soon I wont even be your friend at all

But I guess you wouldnt even notice

Red paint dries on a tissue
Slowly
The same rush hue
Glazes imperceptibly
Gently losing shine
And carefully dulls without change
And softly hardens until dry,
When you can touch it without fear
of red fingers, red clothes, red smears
But still, wasted paint on a tissue
Will be thrown away without notice
And still dry red.

A book shouldn't be judged by its cover they said.
A person should be judged on their heart they said.
Plenty of books go unread
They are too small
Too thick
Too old
Too beat up

People and love have the same fate as a book.
Love is hypocritical.
How can an emotion, that is said to be
Judged by the heart,
Consider the optical cortex's opinion.
Before it weighs a soul
Hypocrites.

Predators are lead by their sight as well.
Killing off prey
In blood lust
That is interesting.
Perhaps lust is the issue
Their eyes devour what they want
While the heart is left empty.

If I lose weight am I subscribing to this belief?
Am I not fit enough to be loved?
Would being devoured by predators truly mend my heart?
My windowless soul bleeds.
While their eyes ignore me.
Am I changing myself to be loved, or
Can love change itself to find me?