She excites herself in mystery

Her red lips pop just like a cherry

No one knows her, no one knows her history

Her long black painted nails make her scary.

She’s a good girl, she feels so good

Nobody knows her like I do, inside and out

The way she looks at me, passionate, you know she would

Fiery golden eyes pour into mine with no doubt.

Do I really know her at all?

Her fears, dreams, wants in life

Hands cold, dead, small

She stands there, her heart punctured with a knife.

“How could you?”

Sorry darling, you have no clue.

If the world was ending,

I would cry.

I would think of all the possible outcomes of my death.

Painful?

Beautiful?



Would the fact that death doesn’t scare me make a difference?

But the reaction would break me forever

This world is huge, we have no idea

We are blind.

We are deaf.  

To the fact that this world is selfish.



Why would I want to live in a place like this?

Ya know what, let’s become God

Let’s start again. Make a new one

A new life.

A happier one.  



Make it so that there is no pain

No suffering.

No tears, no scars

A place where we can live our dreams

To experience experiences.  



You are small.

You don’t matter.  

No one cares ya know

Not in this life. Selfish is what we are

We are like children who don’t share their toys

Like a teenage girl who howls

when she doesn’t get a Suzuki Swift for her 16th birthday.

Days turn into night,
Nights turn into days,
A lot was on going on,
But there was nothing much to say.

At least I knew I was alive,
For sometimes I doubt my existence,
From going unheard to not caring one bit,
Were people who I envied and listened to the most.

Every day as these memories pass,
I think about who I am,
Hiding myself in disguise,
It seems like I’m trapped in a can.

But is it that hard to have someone by your side?
When I’m in pain,
They just don’t seem to notice it,
And I only want someone to call my name.

These memories I hold are not quite pleasant to hear about,
But I hope someday I would not have to be a ‘Personality in Disguise’ anymore.

For those whom I love,
I wish you could understand me,
And accept me for being myself,
‘Cause someone else can’t be me.

For all these memories that I hold,
I wish I could be myself again,
I hope not to be,
A ‘Personality in Disguise’ tied to a chain.

There’s things In my mind
that I sometimes struggle to find
things like who I really am
if I looked deep inside

These Intrusive thoughts
keep invading my mind,
and they lead me to believe
that everyone will leave me behind

There’s something explosive
inside of my chest
emotions leak out
I can’t keep them suppressed

Can’t tell what is real
I’m so dissociated
it’s like right after something happens
the memory is asphyxiated

I can go from pure joy
To exploding with anger
and its so hard to control
the impulsive behaviors

I have so many conversations
inside of my head
and theres someone inside of me
that says I’m better off dead

By the time I was fourteen
I’d made my first attempt
only a freshmen in high school
yet I was treated with such contempt

Now I’m an adult
and nothings really changed
except for being told
there’s a disorder in my brain

Now I don’t want any attention
but I need some affirmation
does anybody really care
or am I just a mental patient

I own a box with mysterious contents,
People who have never seen inside it
Like to tell me what's in there
"It's pink, so it must have pink stuff inside."
But I've seen what's inside
It's brilliant, multi-coloured,
Shifting in hues
Sparkling and flowing,
It sounds like a melody of hope
A story of bravery,
It feels warm like summer
And cosy like a rainy day,
It smells sweet like candy
And salty like tears.
I don't mind sharing the contents
If you care enough to look with me.

She never failed to mesmerize,
The poetry girl
With the rich maple eyes.

Her jungle of hair flourished on her head,
Contained by a green scrunchie
While the bangs on her forehead were spread.

A bite of the nails, a twist of the hair,
A brush of the bangs,
And her voice echoed like a call to prayer.

She goes to IHOP every weekend, knows the menu by heart,
Lives on pancakes and unlimited coffee,
Although she has been known to dabble with egg tarts.

She pulled her knees up to her chest,
Two Crocs, one green, one white,
Her gaze as stalwart as a tree in a forest.

When she spoke, her thoughts came out like trails of smoke,
Littering the room with her personality,
Those scraps of beauty as powerful as a thunderstroke.

She never failed to mesmerize,
The poetry girl
With the rich maple eyes.