I am broken
               heart and will

the world is broken
               festering and ill

its systems broken
                pillage and ****

careening out of control
                or standing still

from every side the scream
               answers mine, loud and shrill

I choke on tears that stream
               trying to swallow each bitter pill

I don't think most people understand depression
                                                    ­                         suicide
                                                         ­                           PTSD
or the cycles that they come in as if they were tides.

People don't see past the smiles and laughter to the darkness within;
That you could be surrounded by love and feel okay
                                                            ­                            yet still be dead

That no matter how much comfort or peace you have it still gnaws away in the beck of your mind and chews a hole in your heart.

Cut wrists and suicide attempts aren't a cry for attention but for help;
does anybody out there hear me? see me? feel the way I feel? does anybody get that I am on the edge and losing it? why does nobody listen? why don't they take me serious? am I worth anything?

It disgusts me we execute the wounded and condemn their suffering;
Maybe they shouldn't feel the way they feel, but it's how they feel, so quit trying to tell them to stop feeling that way!
QUIT TRYING TO FIX THEM

Just be there... they need to know they aren't alone.

silently whispers

You're not the allegation of any guy who blames you for leading him on because you have two fatty sacs on your chest.

silently whispers

Your tears don't absolve you of your masculinity, nor your gentleness is something to mock about. Don't let anyone tell you any different.

silently whispers

You are not the lustful touches they give, or the hungry stares. If a man finds you ***** after he has touched you, tell him to look at his own hand.

silently whispers

You're not entitled to give it to someone, or enjoy what has been forced upon you, cause it is a sick imagination of someone else. Your gender does not determine if you're a victim or the culprit, deserving the punishment.

Please don't ever think you're supposed to sit still when someone's hand over stays their welcome, and stray to other places, where they were not invited because everyone says your gender Is supposed to enjoy any ****** act.

silently whispers*
You're not the intentions or the ***** implications of someone who compliments you, neither you accept their unsaid offer when you say thank you.

And when you talk of things like that, you're not supposed to stagger, when they speak out loud-" but I have never done that". Not you, maybe, buy definitely someone else.

speaks out loud
A crime does not stop because you refuse to participate in it, or if you decide to close your eyes. You can't dismiss a problem because you never had it happen to you.
It's not a girl or a boy, who is sexually abused.
It's a person.
Please, proceed onwards after you have this understood

I'm not sure if I should complain anymore
Maybe this is my fault, I literally chose this life
Clothes on the floor, in the bathroom, overflowing everywhere
And she sleeps comfortably
4 more weeks
Lights burning until 5 am when you should probably be asleep because we both know you'll probably sleep through your 8 am, 8:15 am, 8:30 am alarms
And your classes, how many have you missed this semester?
Don't even reply
I chose this life the moment I chose to live here
But I didn't choose you
I didn't choose random civilians sleeping on our floor
Only to be alerted to their random comment on our behavior at 6 am when it's dark and the last thing a girl wants to hear in the midst of darkness is an unfamiliar male voice
4 more weeks
I did not choose your habits
The dishes have been piling up and
Is that mold on your sponge, don't answer that either
You laugh at the strangest things and maybe there shouldn't be a smile on your face while holding sharp objects
I did not choose my polar opposite in the worst possible way
We are like literal day and night and I never thought that I would hate it this much
4 more weeks
Just 4 more and then nothing but the bliss of being alone again in a safe place
My space

the way clouds swirl
like milk in grey tea
when it rains

There is this question  
                           that lingers in my mind
The answer appropriate
                           I have yet to find

That after the time given to each life is up
The things , that she acquired
The success , fame , money , love , family
with all the time she had
All the things she worked harder for
The sacrifices she made
All memories , struggles ,everything
it will hold no value
The balance will turn back to zero

And there will come a time ,
she will need no oxygen ,
                       and then ?

In the end , it doesn't even matter
      So why , even live at all?
           So why , why work hard ?

It's not about loving the perfect person
but to love the imperfect person
perfectly