whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong
oh!lots of things (she says this real quiet, not 
quite a whisper, and you wonder and think for a 
while about it
is she sad? you dont think even God knows,
or whoever made the World)
when I'm Old, I will create the world anew
sweeten flowers and trees and leafy things (or, 
or, or,
bury all the seeds,and wait a thousand years
for them to grow tall and big and Strong)
how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you
stamp something on it! make my death 
certificate official! i'm in love i'm in love i'm in 
love i'm in love!
she screams! and she thinks that finally, God, or 
whoever made the World, can hear her!
i'm going to put stickers on everything!
(you believe her)
and will the trees grow strong again? and will 
they breathe?
the forest is on fire, but
i think it's only in your mind
your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing 
your teeth are missing your teeth are missing 
i believe you this time: she says, quiet but not 
as much as before
she is painting Doors and Walls and Ceilings, all 
in gold
gold on gold on gold on gold on gold
wow! are you a work of art? can i take you 
home?
do you want to go home? or, i guess,
do you want to go to the mountains or the sea 
or the forest or a lake or even the sky, maybe?
tell me, i'll take you there i promise! wherever
you want to go
free of charge.
- where is the boat going?
and she says, gosh! anywhere we want it to!

You* saved me as I was slipping
From the dark embrace that came once again.
You gave me a reason
Not to see the scarlet lines.
You wiped away the secret tears
That were dripping down my face.

You saved me as I gave up,
Slowly not caring about anything.
You helped me see the light
When I was lost in the dark.
You asked if I was okay.
I said I was fine.
I finally didn't have to lie.

Thank *You

as always, i have been reading poems new to me,
by poets also new to me.
while my eyes caressed each word as if it were the last orb of breathe of the last flower to freeze in the winter,
the engines in my dingy brain halted, without warning.
without any obvious street sign or road block.
but then the pearl of a thought latched itself to me, became apart of me.
and for days now i have been molding this thought in my hands as a preschooler using a new tube a playdoh would.
my fingers manipulated the string of words,
maybe this will wor- no no maybe if i pinch this here it wi- no no no
no
    no
no
     NO
so, i decided to come flat out and bring to life the embryo of an idea of a thought that was swelling and letting water into my brain.

who is the "you"?
yes, i said it who the hell is the "you"?

i have seen it is the best and most famous poets' poems,
i have even seen it in my own.
the "you".

who is your "you"?
you know, example: when you write a poem and instead of saying "Sam" (your ex you haven't gotten over) you just put the word "you" instead?

look at these:

Sam kissed my eyelids,
but Sam only kissed them so i wouldn't see his lies.

and you turn it into:

You kissed my eyelids,
but you only kissed them so i wouldn't see your lies.

another example:

the "you" in this poem is, well, you.

I'm falling apart (again)
and the tight seams of my mentality
are quickly fraying in this silence.
This silence is more than simply just that.
It is built up of sudden unemployment combined with
the empty spaces around me (that once held friends)
and the lack of motivation to do anything (caused by the overwhelming listlessness of my Depression).

The hardest things are really quite simple:
go to sleep
eat at least one meal a day
shower
go outside once in a while
breathe (deeply)
get out of bed
wake up
call someone (to temporarily fill the empty spaces)
feed the cat (which I manage to do during the few moments I'm awake)
clean up a bit
breath (once more).

The Depression has one outlet (that works)
but for once there is not even the urge
to engage in that self destructive action.

The search for a job is needlessly difficult,
for each time I find that the scars on my arms,
all over my body,
make me "ineligible."
The ones that seem not to care about such things
are either paying minimum wage and are part time
(neither of which pays the rent, car insurance, and other bills that always, always add up),
or I do not have the certification or degree to have them
(school is expensive and I will do whatever it takes to never live in the same building as my parents- even being homeless).

And friends?
How can one make and keep or even briefly have even one,
when they themselves don't have even the faintest idea of how
to let others in?
To trust them (any more than one would trust a person holding a gun to the back of their head)?

I think I've begun to sleep more than I breathe, and cry more than I speak. The nightmares are better than reality and the tears taste better than my bitter words. It’s like I keep searching for some form of normality, some type of structure. But I so desperately need to understand what normal is and how the **** to do it. I need to understand what structure feels like because Jesus Christ, I’m too unstable to stand up straight. I was born with sadness in my veins and these feelings have been rushing through my bloodstream since 2008. From cigarettes to blow jobs, my mouth is full. But when it comes to telling how I feel, I choke on ashes and ***** and my words won't come out. Now I'm coughing up emotions and trying my hardest not to suffocate. My mother gives me a tissue and says this is my fathers fault. "You get the sadness from him." Well maybe he's the reason I feel so lost, because apparently nobody knows where the **** he is.

my conniving, cunning cat
so quick to pivot on paws,
but caring enough to walk the alleyways that are my
head and heart.

your claws cascade on my soul,
and i know you love me,
but you are a collective culling..

i can't bring myself to return to sender,
love my ender.

my alley cat,
i can't help but surrender,

to your every rake and take of my being.

you are the poison i crave,
the liquor on the top shelf.

the cat that possesses the power,
to bleed me raw and,
steal the love i can't help.

before i open my eyes and realize i'm alive
every morning
it's you
and it is always you,
you remain inside my mind and you live there
i wouldn't have it any other way
because when i was falling apart
you took the hurt away
all i had to do was look at you
and it wasn't sudden
i didn't notice i'd lost all my troubles
until we parted ways again
it's like every time i'm with you
it's us; and nothing else
you make my world spin backwards
and when i can say the words
"you're mine"
i wake up excited to start the day,
and that's really something i've never been able to say
but it's you who made me remember what
a smile felt like
when i need to escape for awhile,
i'll give you a call
and my grin becomes a tattoo
for the duration
of our communication
i love you
wholeheartedly;
couldn't ever feel this for anybody else
be mine, i'll be yours
we'll be "we"
finally

I don’t write the things I write because they sound beautiful, I write them because I actually feel and think them and this is my way of getting my thoughts out. 
I am so sick of people glorifying selfharm and eating disorders… Honestly this site disgusts me at times, girls thinking they need to be troubled to fit in, that it is cool to stick your fingers in your throat and hug the toilet daily…
no no no

Having your thighs touch does not mean you are fat, it means that your hip structure is wider than others’. 
Having scars does not mean you are mysterious and interesting, it means you have secrets, struggles you wanted to get out but couldn’t. Scars are nothing to be proud of, you may be proud of the fact that they are scars and not wounds anymore, but showing them off is just sick. 
Please believe me that having a bigger size than your friend doesn’t make you fat, it makes you different. Which is good. There is no such thing as ugly or fat, there is only beauty which has a very wide definition. But the bigger part of that definition goes back to one thing; happiness.
stop glorifying troubles and making it seem cool to have them, you are not a freak if you feel happy, for one, you are lucky. Go ahead and feel happy. Let it scare you, smile so wide your cheeks hurt. That’s what it’s all about.