It's been a month since your fragile voice made contact with my alert ears and it almost burns as I admit I miss the way you spoke.
I could never meet your eyes-do I even remember the color of them?
And every glance at you feels like you're drawing blood from my veins when you're not even making contact with me.
Change, change, CHANGE.
It all seems so relevant, or maybe irrelevant and I just want you to be happy but not hearing your voice talking to me feels like a million needle points and I shouldn't let you get to me.
It's been a month.
Have you ****** around more after me before the word "change" hit your tongue?
Or was I just another nothing of a female body to fuel your addiction that actually made you realize that change is all you got?
Seventeen years doesn't get you far, now does it.
But karma, that's going to get you.
You're nothing, 'cause you told us we were something (what a lie!) and it's going to loop back around.
But I miss your fragile voice making contact with my alert ears.

Derive your own meaning while poets stay dreaming and fat cats stay scheming...

A dame grown broken down spills her heart out with the blood she can't lend. My best friend has to get by on food stamps with a 9 to 5 to pay for his insulin. Diabetes ain't no joke and don't ask why they haven't provided a cure. It's a testament to how money talks while he endures the sufferin' for others to get at that comb of honey. Did I forget to mention, all y'all listening, that we're barely over twenty? Meanwhile my lil sis lies bedridden comatose while the doctors with fancy degrees shake their heads at this personal disease they can't diagnose. Young in the deteriorating body she was given while much older in all her pride, accepting what fate has dealt her with and knowin' peace inside.  Boast 'bout how you got diamonds in yo teeth, and how the welfare you're making is more than I get paid overtime to feed my fam, ILY. Lather, rinse, repeat, take a moment to be grateful for your bed. I'll take this hate raw and remember there are fates far worse than death. Not to sound pretentious, like we've taken worse blows than others who are stressin'. After all, the message that we wish to confide:
Every breath is precious, it matters what you do with your time, down to the last second.

I'm tired of writing poetry for all the desolate disgraces I see in this world. Homeless hit a peak of 2.5 million children country wide in this land of opportunity. How are you supposed to survive with no role models or daily inspiration? The lessons you cherish are when your next meal arrives, not waiting on your pension. Suspended through the thicket of all this strife, and they are the ones who are grateful day and night. The smallest hospitality does not pass through their ears while comfortable in the heat you're deciding which brand of beer to choose. Intoxicate yourself like your problems will just vanish while a little girl no more than four begs strangers for a sandwich. Then blame the victims for stealing your bits of gold, when all they wanted was a blanket to keep out of the cold.

perhaps fragments are easier to maintain?

patching up, trying to make up for the gaping hole within my soul, its arduous.

i found more holes, more empty spots in the crevices of my sanity, confidence and abilities.

i found out what i needed to work on, but i left my words behind

the utterances that used to echo in my head to spur me forward.

but this led to them shattering into fragments, falling onto my bare feet, piercing bare skin.

yet i found that these pieces didn’t always fit, involving the need to severe some portions off.

i found what i should work after, and along the way i’m picking up the pieces.

and most of the time, i'm just being foolish.

i noticed that i largely overestimate myself.

but reaching a point where it get overwhelming, i shy back into the comfort of a damp, crumbling cardboard box.

i like to explore things, snuggling up against the warmth of cotton knit sweaters.

I thought it would matter
to you
if I could pen something


~stunning~

the way you always do,
without complications,
problems, or any thoughts
at all.

I wanted my heart
to talk for me
and my soul
to finally roam the way
it should

~free~

Words don't come so easy,
hearts don't have
voices,
souls don't have wings.

I try and I try
to be something I'm not
so maybe you will
like me...

Nights pass and I dont sleep,
days are for learning things
I'll never use
and creating scars
that might never

~heal~

and maybe then
I will know how you
felt the first time
that you

~fell~

All my pens are out
of ink,
my pencils seem to
be missing their
lead tips and
my computer eats

~thoughts~

the way you used to
when you actually knew
who you were.

Time flies,
I don't know
where I am...
What's today,is it
night or is it day

~again~

Am I alone the way it feels
or are there others
out there
sitting in silence
trying to please

~you~

when everyone knows
that they will

~never~

be good enough
for this monster you
became in the darkness
of the world
and the fear your father
instilled in your veins

~blue~

like the tears
streaming down my
cheeks when you
weren't looking.

Does it matter that I'm
writing this in blood
on my bedroom wall
in hopes someday


~someone~

anyone might see
how much you mean
to me?

I write and I write
nothing sounds good
none of this feels right,
so what's the point it's

~not~

like you'll find this
anyway you never
were the one to seek
out your admirers.

~Anyway~

my dear,
the phone is ringing
as if someone actually
has something they want
to say to me

and my mom is
knocking on the door
asking if I'm alright,
the answer is no
though I won't tell her
that, at least not

~tonight~

Kids are laughing
as they toss rocks in the
street and moths
are tapping on the window
longing to get out

I think I should help
them, after all I
know how it feels
to want something so
much and still know
that it is the thing
that will be your very

~end~

I would say I
love you
though it feels
a it like

~hate~

and I know you're
off in ed somewhere
with a girl who will only
last the night

dreaming of all the
things you have and
wondering why you still
aren't happy.

maybe if you met me
if you gave me a chance,
saw me doing everything
for your

~attention~

and learning to write
the way you do
even though each word
kills another cell
I never really had
to begin with.

~Good~

night, my love,
maybe tomorrow will be
better and you will see
a new path to make you

~happy~

in the mean time
I think
I better go now.

I don't like being your
shadow when its already
a dark midnight of horror,
pain, tears, and a lack
of true

~love~

I have always been invisible
Never belonged in a clique
Never had I known the popular songs
Never had I been invited to parties.
I've always had a face that one forgets.
A face that one would blatantly remember.
I was never one seek help.
Not once did I try to break the curse.
So don't pretend to care and watch me do the same.
I'll just stay invisible.

with parallel lines across her forearm
she smiled at the constellations,

he used to speak with soft tones,
every line which slipped through his dry lips
incoherent pieces meant to be left
separated.

burnt paper and crumpled promises,
they weren’t parallel lines
with the fortune of an interchange.

yet they both learnt lessons,
severing memories from empty souls;
trembling backs barely in contact,
her choice of route the converse of his.

love is often said to be the antithesis of selfishness-
and she could only wonder if
it was once humane
to break one’s wings.

(j.y.t)

Rant and rave
Scream and shout
You don't know what you're talking about

Screech and yell
Wail and cry
Their flaws are blind to your eye

These people
You worship
Are not gods

And this obsession
You have
Is not healthy

They are flawed
Not perfect
Nobody's perfect

And yet
You rant
And rave

don’t think there’s anything beautiful or romantic about hating yourself. It’s a highly hypocritical point of view because somewhere down the line I’m sure I’ve reblogged something of the sorts, but there is no reason why suicide or self harm should be glorified.

There’s nothing beautiful about physically being unable to move because every day tasks are so daunting you’d rather just stay in bed. There is nothing beautiful about being unable to get close to people without losing large pieces of your self-esteem and self-confidence every time. There is nothing beautiful in logically knowing what you feel isn’t how people see you, that you’re worth something, but still physically not being able to make yourself happy. There is nothing beautiful about cutting yourself, burning yourself, putting yourself in physically abusive situations. There is nothing beautiful in thinking “how many pills do you think I’d actually have to take to die” or “how long do you think it would take if i sliced my arm” or “what’s the least painful and cleanest way to do this”. There is nothing beautiful about being torn about whether you want to **** yourself for yourself or stay for your family. There is nothing beautiful about looking at yourself in the mirror and hating every piece, every inch, every out of place lock of hair. There is nothing beautiful about writing a note, having to tell everyone that it’s not their fault. There is nothing beautiful about not being able to maintain your happiness on your own. There is nothing beautiful about it.

It doesn’t make you special, cool, interesting: it’s not supposed to be a doorway for. attention. People don’t understand that I don’t choose to physically have to stop myself from ending my life. Things like “suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem” and “suicide is so selfish” make me so ******* angry. I get that, I’m not an idiot, if I die I die but tomorrow the sun is going to to come up and maybe I won’t have to sit alone at lunch again, or maybe I’ll make another friend, or maybe I won’t fail another test. But there will always be more of those temporary problems, there will always be more failed tests, there will always be more broken hearts, there will always be more. And whenever I think of suicide I don’t think of it as my temporary problems, I don’t think of it as that 17 on a spanish test or that rejected job application. I see it as, I won’t have to wake up tomorrow hating myself, I won’t have to wake up in the morning and physically push myself to get out of bed (like I couldn’t do today. It’s 11:47 on a tuesday morning and I”m still in bed from yesterday’s clothes because I physically couldn’t change into my pajamas last night, or make myself get up this morning). When I think about suicide I think about realizing that I won’t have to feel this ever-aching pain in my chest that never goes away. I think of all the people I won’t let down in the future, and all the people who won’t let me down. Hell yes it’s ******* selfish, I’m not stupid, don’t treat me like I am. It’s the most selfish thing you can do. But sometimes all I want to be is selfish because I give and give and give and never get anything back in return. I would die for my friends and anyone else that I care about but it’s like if I disappeared they wouldn’t notice. That’s all I want to do sometimes is disappear.

Please, don’t try to tell me that, oh just think happy thoughts. It’s like telling a ****** addict to “just stop” or an alcoholic to “just not drink”. It doesn’t work that way. I give every ounce of myself to other people and other things because I can’t keep any of it, because no matter what I do I feel like I’m not good enough. I have a 3.5 and climbing GPA. I have a mother and father that love me. I have an uncle and a grandmother that are always there for me when I need them. I have two beautiful baby nephews, and a loving sister. “there’s nothing you should be depressed about”, but the externals don’t matter when there’s nothing for you inside.

I don’t know how to explain this, and it’s different for everyone, but for me, there’s nothing to live for but my best friend. I know if I left her, she’d follow me, and I can’t have that on my hands. But that shouldn’t be the only reason I’m alive. That shouldn’t be the only reason I didn’t take those pills. Everyone needs to find a reason to be happy inside of themselves, and it’s so ******* hard to do when I see things glorifying and beautifying suicide and depression.

This is the reason why no one takes it seriously. By spreading this, no one seriously thinks that someone has a problem. By just saying, “oh my god I’m gonna **** myself” people don’t take it seriously. Mental illness is not just something you can get over, it doesn’t just go away, you can’t just think happy thoughts and it’s gone. During the happiest times of my life I destroyed everything I had because I didn’t think I was good enough, and there were always better options. I don’t love myself. I hate myself. I hate that I can’t make people happy. I hate that I’m not enough for people. I hate that I’m not as pretty as anyone else. I hate that I’m not funny. I hate that my own flesh and blood despise me, and are disappointed in me. I hate that I couldn’t save him from his own demons, that I couldn’t get him to just put the ******* bottle down. I hate knowing that some things aren’t my fault but always blaming myself for everything ****** in my life. I hate that all of my love wasn’t enough for anyone to stay. I hate having to try to save people to save myself. I hate having to have some kind of external verification and justification for my life.

Just because I can make jokes and laugh until I cry around other people doesn’t mean I don’t wake up every hour crying, or doesn’t mean I don’t come home and isolate myself because I don’t want my parents to see me destroyed. People need to understand this isn’t romantic. This isn’t something you want to be. This isn’t something you should strive for. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. It makes getting close to people scary, if not dangerous. It makes everyday tasks so much harder than they have to be. I don’t know if any of this made sense to anyone, and I’m sorry if I insulted anyone with mental illness, this is just my views from my personal experiences. Just, think before you speak. Think before you post. Think before you glorify something that could be destroying someone else.

I’m sure people might look at me differently for this. I’m sure people might be surprised that there have been numerous times where if I had gone through with it I wouldn’t be here. I’m sure people might be disgusted, ******, angry at me for speaking my mind. I’m sure some people might think I got it all wrong. But I need to speak my mind, and I need to share what I believe, because it seems like no one I talk to understands how I feel.

k.s

p.s. please if anyone needs to talk, my inbox is always open, anything. I can hold on, but sometimes it’s hard and I always wish I had a crutch. Please, just before you do anything, talk to someone, try to talk yourself out of it, or find someone to talk you out of it. I know I said we need to find something to love within ourselves, and I believe that 100%, but you can’t do that if you’re not breathing. Just try to hold on to find that something. I haven’t been living for the past six months, I’ve just been holding on, and I’m still looking but you can’t give up hope. Please, don’t give up hope.