I write with the Fire of agony that burns in my chest.
Pain has no name.
Sharing title.
All experienced differently.
I don't recognize the sound of  pain in the nerves of my flesh
Nor have I made them.

There's just a raggedy tragedy of heart and soul left mentally scared by the disregard of the human art sitting on a canvas of madness with nothing but panic from a child frantic and abandoned.

I write with the fire of agony that burns in my chest

Eventually you will have to come to terms with the fact
that maybe you just won't get better.
You will have to deal with people asking you "what's wrong?"
and "are you okay?" "you sure?" on a daily basis.
The most you can do is keep your head held high, keep
a smile pasted on that pretty face of yours and keep moving.
The worst thing you could possibly do is sit there and feel
sorry for yourself. At that rate you're right, you won't get better.
Somedays are worse than others. Someday you won't be able
to keep the tears from pouring from your pretty eyes.
Other days you will see the light in the things you do.
You'll walk a little lighter, and your smile will shine a little
brighter. Wait for these days. Keep faith that these better
days will come. Depression isn't about wallowing in your
self pity. It's a condition when a strong person just can't
think strong thoughts. Depression is when no matter how hard
you try, you just can't smile. It isn't something to be ashamed
of. It isn't something you should hide from the world.
Other people can help you.. You can't always make yourself
better. Accept advice, even if you don't want to listen,
even if you aren't going to follow it.

writing has been hard lately...
it's like i've being trapped under
this invisible bubble, thats almost
impossible to break free from.

it's hard being surrounded by people constantly
it's hard always having to fake...everything
words never come easily anymore
its almost like i have to put my fingers
down my throat and force them out.

the stress and anxiety is slowly eating
away at my soul.
as drastic and unreal as that sounds - its
true.
i can feel it, gnawing away at my feeble attempts at being normal.


n.g.

A letter to the man who gave me this life

Did you know,
when you pulled the trigger,
that that bullet would give me a new life?
Did you even know my name?
I am Maryam.
I am Dima.
I am Agnes.
I am Charles.
I am 6 million kids affected by you.
Do you know where my doll is?
She is the only one who wouldn’t leave,
if she were here.
I left her at home,
have you bombed my house yet?
Please!
I am only 11.
I am only 10.
I am only 12.
I am only 16.
I am only a child.
Just a child.
Can you help my daddy?
He only got out of the car for a minute,
when there was a loud bang.
In the quiet,
all I could see were my daddy’s boots.
His face was so white,
his hands getting colder.
He is staring at me without seeing me.
God!
He is dead!
Why would you do this?
These shots,
they haunt my dreams.
When you pulled the trigger,
did you know that I would jump--
by simple sound of a door closing?
I was planting pumpkins.
We were going to make pie.
But now, I am starving.
Stuck in a dark room.
The men come in,
I don’t understand…
Why?!?!
I am only a small girl.
I am only a small boy.
You make fear burn,
as passionately as love once did.

Love,
The Child With No Parents (Thanks)

They always say look at the bright side
Be positive about life,
but how? How can they see positivity?
When negativity takes over my body.
I can't even see those lights, all I can see is darkness
How can they say let go
When I don't have any Idea which one,
which feelings should I let go
Everything becames complicated
Everything's a blur
All I can feel is pain and I am so tired,
Tired of being sad, Sad without anyreason
All of the sudden I lost interest, Interest in everything I used to loved

this fragile heart remains in a constant state of hurt
and yet it still searches for someone or something.
the idea of finding a soul that is strong enough to heal
is what allows this heart to stretch so thin.
what if no one comes?
what if no one is strong enough to help?
what IF the idea of finding love is a dream that we ourselves have created.
maybe love does not exist and never has but because of society and the unrelenting effect that the media has on this generation, we created demented images and ideas about love.

a fragile heart is only as delicate as we make it seem and even still,
we search
we hurt
we open doors to the soul that we wish remained shut
we allow ourselves to be consumed but another
we make ourselves weak and fragile for love
but in the end,
what does it mean to love and be loved?

You want to know why I flinch?
You want to know why I scream?
Because at home I'm flinching away from someone grabbing my hair.
Because at home I'm screaming when I'm getting hurt or about to be.

I don't expect you to understand how much it hurts having you hair pulled so many times.
I don't expect you to understand how much it hurts to be hurt so many times.

Because your life hopefully doesn't involve the need to flinch.
Because your life hopefully doesn't involve the need to scream unless it's gleeful.
Now you know why I flinch.
Now you know why I scream.