what happened to you?
that you were so afraid of messing up
these words mean nothing
and being thrown to the dust
because all these gifts and memories take nothing to the test
hyper visions of misery heightened, the wise are unknown
curses and shadows brew 'round their heads
or stars and spaceships from the planet of the undead

what happedned to you that you felt so empty yet so mad and angry?
a raging fire of something unseen, something unknown
far from your reach
they say expeirence and memories shape who we are
but i cant recall a gooddamn thing that made us who we are

what happedned that you could take that bullet to the head placing that gun inside of their hand?
a trigger, a flash, a ringing sound about
yet nothing splatters at the wall because we know once and for all
that what happened to you happened to me and no matter how much you think it might be
our names will never be graved in that stone
for one
one can only
die
a l o n e

i no longer know how to express my feelings correctly
i don't feel
i embody
i am hurt
i am anger
i am...
what am i?
who am i?
what the **** am i doing?
i have all of these questions and no answers
i'm so confused
i had a friend
she used to lie to me and tell me she loved me
she once told me that i was a daisy in a field of grass
and although that may be true
i feel like the daisy's been stomped on
and the field is infested with snakes
i am scared
i am lonely
i am weak
i talk to a shrink two times a week
she makes me feel okay
but then i realize that i can't sit in that coffee scented office for the rest of forever
that she's not my caretaker
who is my caretaker?
why has everyone given up on me?
why did she look at me and tell me she loved me and then bag my things up and dump me on somebody else?
why did he tell me i was unworthy?
why did he **** me?
why did my mom choose sleeping over looking at the sun?
or even better, watching her daughter look at the sun.
why did that girl in fifth grade tell everyone that there was dog **** on my floor so that no one wanted anything to do with me?
i am so sorry that my mother's inability to walk and pick it up made you so uncomfortable you felt the need to rid me of friends.
as if it wasn't hard enough having a mother who couldn't stand up long enough to make me mac n' cheese, or watch me ride a bike.
why did all of those girls lead me on?
saying they wanted me when they didn't.
telling me i was their best friend and they couldn't live without me when in reality i was just a meal ticket and a free place to live.
tell me why i look at the girl i'm in love with and can't accept that she loves me back?
tell me why i have to beg my father for a relationship and pray that i get a phone call every time a holiday comes around?
tell me why i've carved so many things into my body to make myself feel more whole?
tell me why everyone lies and deceits and manipulates and, and, and....
daisy in a field of grass?
now, i don't know about that.

betrayal is the beginnings of pure agony and heartbreak. betrayal is the feeling of loneliness inside your stomach, clawing and ripping, letting the acid into your blood stream. it burns. and aches. betrayal is the sensation felt when a dagger is placed ever so delicately against your  back and then proceeds to be rammed into your spine, paralyzing you with misery. these daggers shoot at your closed wounds, reopening them, re-exposing them to the cruelty of the world. betrayal is the feeling of a hand wrapped tightly around your trachea, restricting your breathing and forcing you to just sit back and take it, and let it happen, because there's nothing you can do about it except take the excruciating pain and close your eyes. time cannot heal betrayal. time cannot replace the damaged inflicted by betrayal. regardless of forgiving, betrayal is permanent.

i don't know
if i can
forgive you.
after all of this
heartbreak,
i am still
broken.
and you are
new.
you cannot
fix what is
broken.
you cannot fix me.
you have scarred me.
ruined me.
manipulated me.
i don't know if
i am capable of
forgiving you.

i know you
are sorry.
but sorry is
only a word.
sorry cannot
mend my heart.
sorry cannot
take away
what happened.
sorry cannot
treat my pain.
the pain you
caused me.
your apologies
crack at my skin,
but your words
are buried deep
within my heart.
sorry is
unforgivable.

My laptop reads 13%
And oddly enough I relate to that
It’s a staple of our generation to relate to others obscure references.
With agreements such as “same” being used to reference themselves to a cup lying on the side of the road.
I don’t quite understand and yet I find myself relating to these obscurities rather frequently.
I’m stuck.  
Truly a dead end of the creative kind.
And sincerely it’s been literal months since I’ve created something I’m even mildly okay with.
Why? Is it because I’m depressed?
Is it because I am empty inside?
What can I find to blame my inactiveness on this time?
There are so many things I want to do.
I want to sing
I want to act
I want to fall in love
I want to make videos
I want to lose 30 pounds
I want to travel the world.
I want to come out to my family
I want to die but usually only at night, which is an improvement
I want be a lawyer, a doctor, a writer, a zoologist, an actor.
There are multitudes of things that I want, enough to fill up all of the oceans. Simultaneously
There is one that is noticeably more prominent than others and that is that
I want to be happy.
And yet here I am it’s 3 am and I’m nothing but empty
And even now, more than ever now, I need to have a voice.
I don’t want to be heard I need to be. But the words they just don’t come like they used to.
How am I supposed to pursue my dreams if I can’t even take a shower?
I’m falling. Again.
Life is messy. Life is a ******* **** show.
I’m trying to make the most of it. And honestly, it’s ******* difficult.
I want to write. I say that about every three hours and yet nothing.
More than anything, I want to live lives other than my own,
Not because of self-hatred but because of my desire to explore and to experience.
I want to fall in love with characters who help me to love myself.
I want to be more than a 16-year-old typing her life away hoping, praying to live other lives.
And just because I don’t know how to get there right now.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.
I want to live for myself, I want to stop apologizing and go for what I want.
My laptop reads 2% and as it is powering off so am I.
I’m going to sleep in hopes of inspiration striking me while I’m floating between consciousness.
It’s unreasonable to ask for. But please.
I miss creating. I just want to live.
I just want to be happy.