Whats your biggest mistake?

Never to be known, I said
As a smile grew on my face

To be known is to be vulnerable
And I'd rather not know myself
Not let them get close enough
To see the hurt beneath my eyes
Then to admit
My true soul
In all its glory
In all the tears it earned
In all the misery it enjoyed

To be known is to be loved
He said
I agree i thought
But deep inside I know
A men would never be the one
I'd like to know

As these words leave my pen
It hurts
In my soul my head my stomach
I might throw up i might not live
After a confession so selfish

"Oh child, to love is not to know
But to believe in the hope
To heal every broken soul"

My heart it hurts
It breaking my rips from the inside out
It leaves me rooting right through
Makes me frow up all the love i have for you

Every cut on my skin proves
Im willing to lern how to lose
Myself even more than you
They ***** the love i cannot give you

My head is full of dreams and stories
Stiffed to the brim with new idees
You're in every happy ending
In every book i erase myself

Let me paint you in the morningsun
Capture you grinning to the girls you love
Let me use this brush and paint
To give you an insight of your light

Every tear fell from my cheeks
Proves im not just a freak
I feel and feel and cant help but think
Oh how better life would be
without existing

The scent through the door is clear
It smeels like rotten pease and leaves
It feels like a forgotten dream
It feels like a missed opportunity

And when she'll die ill be in pices
Will you see it will you be there
To safe me from ripping open
My heart is butcherd bleeing broken

I like them bedroom bullies,
Them nasty dominant  *******,
Put them tatas on me ,
Let them suffocate me ,
And even if I die,
It would be with a good cause,
Gently choke my neck,
Change them gears ,
Do some quick acceleration,
There comes some flapping  sounds,
Down the hill we roll,
Swimming in our own sweat,
As my lips whisper your name, "zaddy",

In the cold, dark I sit,
Bereft of your warmth.  
Assailed by cacophonic din
Without your buffer.

I am shattered.

Black secrets descend upon my dreams
And chase sleep from my bed;
As swift as the purple night
And as uncaring as the wine-dark sea.

My mind drifts to you,  
Lying in the half-world of sedation,
Body pierced through
With vines of plastic and wire.

Discordant melodies surround you,
My heart keeping distant time,
While shades strive to
Make whole what is broken.

Through the pain, I keep vigil,
Me in my hell, you in yours,
Until your sweet voice sounds
And we reunite in dreams less dire.

All the men that stare, they don't have to stay
They don't **** , but the **** is conveyed
Eyes have power they say
is that why they hate the gays

eyeliner , eye shadow , lipstick
This is what makes em ick ;
doing drugs
having ***
that's cool isn't it?
looking at the hips that gave you birth;
staring at the ******* that quenched your thirst
maybe the gender is a little cursed
this is the fact that makes my heart burst

**** is a powerful word
a tool for women to onslaught the turds
isn't it a little to late to test the bees and the birds
maybe its better to have a gay son or a thot daughter
then to have a son that rapes his own mother

If the day ends and I no longer have the rights to myself,
Is it truly the land of the free?
Or is it only free to the straight white men that loom in offices and make laws on matters that don’t relate to them.
If I wake up tomorrow and see I can’t love who I love,
Is it really what Jesus said when he said love thy neighbor?
Or is thy neighbor only supposed to be a straight white Christian man?
A man who claims to live by a book written by other men like him,
Claiming stories of a man who loves everyone,
Of a man who said everyone must love equally
But why do these men not follow the simple rule from the book they revolve their lives around?
Is it that hard to love each other?
To love me?
A pained fifteen-year-old girl who wants to love someone and be loved,
Yet the rights of being a girl and the rights of love are ripped out of my torn and blistered hands and handed to the boy next to me who already has his own rights of living.
Is my life worth less than the next person because I might not marry a man?
That I might need to save my life by having an abortion after I’m ***** by the same men who claim they know me and my body?
At least my struggles aren’t as intense as my friends,
But is that a good thing?
No.
My rights might become limited,
But theirs might be truly gone
If the sun breaks the horizon and I lose everyone and everything I’ve ever known,
Will my home of the brave no longer be a home to those who fall into the categories of failure?
The work I’ve created, we’ve created, might be destroyed once the ticks of the tallies grow.