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Wickus May 2020
Twenty twenty
The world is sick
Locked in my room
And trapped in my head

My thoughts
My eternal prison cell
Screaming at four walls
DeAnn Feb 2018
His hands were in my hair one moment and around my neck the next
He is the epitome of complexity
He is the man I love the most in this world
He is...

Our relationship is complicated
He loves me and I know it
When I am sad, he will comfort me
When I cry, he wraps me in his arms and holds me tight, telling me everything is going to be okay
When I succeed, he cheers on the sidelines, his face filled with pride

But I have become accustomed to being a doll
A trophy
When he is not right, he is right anyways
When he is angry, there is always someone else on the receiving end
There is always another to be blamed

Until now, I never knew I could be right
I didn’t know the freedom I could have
I didn’t know that there were guys who could be patient, would let me have an opinion, would let me be me instead of a trophy
I didn't know I was a person

My own entity
Delta Swingline Apr 2017
I cannot stop crying to say my life.

It's like it's on a schedule.
Crying in school, after school, in my car, at home, to my parents, to my teachers, to no one at all. For sometimes... hours.

I have officially become so broken that I've become pathetic. So I don't know. I'm a wreck. I cannot even think about this without hating myself, and I can't talk about it without crying.

I'm a broken fricken record about this story. Saying it over and over.

Apologizing over, and over, and OVER.

I am so sick of it. I do not want this, but I can't escape it. As much as I may want to, I can't. It is so easy to write about the bad.

I can't remember one good thing last said by someone important.
But I have a million good things to say about them. I always will.

And you're the one who's sorry?
Not as sorry as I am.

I don't want to be told to "get over it" as if it was ever that easy.

And I hate this. I really do. There is nothing left here. So I guess you were right about me being nothing more than my mistakes. I hope you take pride in being right. Because I am barely hanging on.

And you decided to walk away.

That's okay.

After all, this is the real me right? I've secretly always been this monster. I'm nothing more than you say.

So tell me what I am.
Giving in to the pain, living with the consequences of my actions. And saying that after everything, I am still going to hate myself.

— The End —