The first time you saw
The white streaks of healed tissue
That ran across my arm, you said,
"I'm surprised but proud of you."

You were proud that I wore them
Like a badge of honor not shame,
That I didn't hide them like others
Did with their own.

Later, we talked about them again
And you revealed how you thought
I seemed to be used to them now
And I didn't notice them anymore.

Want to know what I notice?

I notice how strangers hesitate
When they see me or meet me.

I notice how mothers distract
Their kids when I walk past.

I notice the whispers then silence
When I move my arms.

I notice judgement from people
Who don't know the first thing about me.

I notice the looks of sadness or pity
But never acceptance.

I notice how my heart constricts
Because they don't know my story.

I notice how I hate myself more
For the fact that I am so messed up.

I notice the fact that I'm always aware
And completely unused to them.

The death of a loved one:
You don't get over, just used to.

This--these scars on the body and soul:
You don't get used to, just live with.

I asked if there was anyone there remotely my age,
and she said yes. I had just dumped all the money in my
wallet into trying to make my savings not negative.
It didn't work.
I walked over, stepped inside,
and saw teenagers. She told me,
there's a guy outside and he's twenty.
I got ******* duped by a kid.
Her parent's left, unwisely.
I met another half-black person,
a 15 year old girl who had dark skin
and hated everything that resembled
"blackness" or "black culture".
She even called herself white.
Here I was, outside drinking grape soda
out of a hello kitty mug,
discussing radical feminism
to teenage girls-
and ******* five shots were fired.
Not even 15 feet away, behind the garage.
[A fake 100 was exchanged, to which distaste was shown,
also this sentence is in parentheses,
and technically doesn't even exist].
So now there are teenage girls crying over gunfire,
hyperventilating, the high school boys jogging-
people in a swarm heading indoors,
and me.
The stupid-*******-tragic-yet-benal artist,
running in his stupid ******* circle,
trying to decide if he should go inside
with the crazy juvenile people, or see if he can get shot,
because he already lives life awaiting some
stupid ******* narcissistic tragedy
to wipe him off the map.
My opportunities had rushed away already however.
I walked inside and sat on the couch hugging
one of those puffy round pillows and laughing
maniacally. It was intense after all.
Kid Duper tried to relate to me.
I know she didn't get it.
No one ever really ******* gets it.
Understood, maybe? No one understands.
I left shortly after with a copy of Fahrenheit 451.
I was told I could borrow it.

Every time she tries to open up,
she shuts down even more.
I'm ok and it's alright
have become her best friends for life.

Like tiny plants that close to touch,
that's just how her mind works.

You'll get so close-almost there,
but not there yet.
She can never trust again.

They asked me, "Why are you crying?"
I told them, "My eyes are sensitive."
They asked, "To what?"
I said, "To the wind."
They walked away and I knew they would never understand.
They've seen clear, sunny skies,
They've been living in paradise.
I've been in a storm,
just trying to find a place to protect my eyes.

We are wrong about every single thing. They teach us everything they know. They tell us what to do. When we see the sun they tell us it's a star. We are wrong. We get misunderstood and they get mad at us. We try to make things right but we make it wrong. They teach us to always do the right things. When we follow our hearts and do what think is right they tell us to think again. We are wrong.

We are a generation of misunderstood teens trying to make everyone pleased, make mom and dad proud, do what we love but always gets it **wrong.

Don't think you know me for a second..i am misunderstood
i am black but i am not from the hood,
but it's still a cold world,everybody needs a hood
i smile and frown,but i cant speak of my mood

most times we are too blind to see,
too blind to see the good in other people
when i say "i'm sorry" i mean it,i'm not too proud to be
when i say I love you,hold on to that,its a sequel

Dont judge me,but i'm not too perfect not to be
dont hurt me,but im not too perfect not to be
i'm imperfectly trying to take away my imperfections
in a world of billions,i am only understood by my reflections

My age is such a disrespect to how old my soul is
I've been 16 for 6 months now and I have learned so much
But really,
the lessons That can only be learned through experience;
Those started 3 years ago

In 3 years I learned just about enough to be set for the rest of my life

That makes me sad

I've always been different you know
Open minded
Non judgmental
Free spirited
Wild hearted
Rebellious
I thought about things in a different way
My intellect is and has always been one withholding infinite depth; at 13 years of age it was greater then my ability to differentiate from what was, what wasn't, and what could've been
I was definitely way to independent for my own good

I don't think that being a 13 year old made up of all those things was good for me

But I guess there's not much I can do about that considering the fact that all of that is left in the unfortunately non changeable and non reversible  thing called "the past"

I've felt way to much pain
I've been treated way to poorly
I've been used way to much
I've been taken for granted

Touched in unpleasant ways and wiped clean of confidence, trust, and security

There once was a time were I was able to feel
You know that type of feel you only obtain once in your life

And then I experienced my first heartbreak; it was as if I died for the first time

I remember the feeling as if it was still living in me

I found myself dried out of tears sitting on the floor staring at millions of tiny broken grey shards of glass .. I realized that I was staring at everything I was that had now been ripped from me; all of my many colors and my perfectly whole self was broken and grey lieing in the floor without life
it felt as if a knife was stabbing right through my chest and my loungs were filling with blood
slowly I was bleeding out
everything that I was; my innocence, the love I had yet to give was draining from my soul & hopelessness took over me for  I did not know how to make it stop

2years later
Many deaths later
Here I am
Empty

You might think:
"she's only 16 how could she be stuck in such a hopeless dark whole? How could her loungs be filled with such thick smoke composed of intoxicating and fatal desolation"

Truth is that's exactly how I torture myself every second of my dam life;
With that same question

How could I have let my past **** me and shape me into what it wanted me to be?

I should of fought for myself
People keep telling me to fight but I'm not really sure if there is anyone left to fight for.

16, Beautiful, Damaged

In depths of my unfathomable psyche
Submerged I find myself floating around in the ‘shallow’ societal sea of our world.
Oh but it is not ‘shallow’ you’ll see
It is a deep blue ocean that withholds great mystery;
& those who see it as ‘shallow’
Are only those who stand in clouds of constant oblivion; Ceasing the inhale of beauty, intellect, and individuality.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
Throughout every passing day
I observe, I listen, and I take into account the things that are done and said by every individual person I come across.
Now here I sit, in the complete abduction of the beautiful, yet merciless monster called insomnia, without fail of corse accompanied by her sister solitude;
& I reflect.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
I realize that in order to best express the realization of my reflection…
I must let my walls down; so I will.
And now that I have…
The word to describe the feeling that takes over ‘me’ in this very moment is one that acquires the ability to depict ones exact feelings in a way I do not obtain.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
I feel lonely because I know that the odds of me meeting someone as insane as me are slight; yet I feel appreciative because I couldn’t imagine possessing such an ugly, close minded, and indifferent insight.
I feel a type of sadness that could only emerge from a person that fears never getting to experience the comfort that comes from acceptance; yet i feel overwhelming excitement and longing in the midst of my hopeless romantic type daydream of the possibility that I will find my somebody that does not seek to comprehend or figure me out but will accept ever corner and color I currently am and everything I have yet to become
I feel pitty for the average;
Yes I am not sane
Yes I am not average
And yes the depths of my true thoughts I have not learned to control; but my insanity is and will always be the fuel to my potential.