I want to write something. I want to feel the words dripping from my fingers like they are a faucet of poetry. I want to feel all the similes and metaphors run through my veins. I want to write something.
I’ve been depressed all week But she‘s been too. She shares her coping methods And she’s praised and supported. I share mine and I get a single “Nice.”
I’m the one willing to take bullets For those who can’t take five minutes To make sure I haven’t drowned While lifting others so they can breathe.
At this point it’s not even them. I’m force-feeding words into their mouths As I watch them go about their lives.
I know that They’re busy. They’re tired. They’re taking a personal day. They’re working on themselves. And I understand that.
But whenever I’m busy, I’m tired, I’m taking a personal day, Or I’m working on myself, I’m there at the drop of a hat.
I’m the one taking bullets For those that can’t take five minutes To realize that maybe, just maybe I need help too.
Irrelevant. The delayed introduction after the “How have you beens?” “Fine and yous?” “I’ve been great, I have this story...” Minutes pass before I’m even thought of, And by then I’ve excused myself.
I’m the one that’s taking bullets For those that can’t take five minutes. I’m taking you out and bringing you in But I can only take so much.
I’m so desperate to be important to someone That I don’t know how to be important to myself. Even the saying of “one is sliver and one is gold” Is unintentionally excluding. I’m surrounded friends and their golds But there are so many golds there’s not room for bronze.
I’m the one taking bullets For those that can’t take five minutes To realize that I give more than I take And that I’ve given away my soul.
A sick feeling in my stomach, But if I bring it up, I know you’ll have it worse. So I swallow my bile And stretch out a smile.
I’m the one taking bullets For those who can’t take five minutes To see that I’ve made it out Of the burning building too.
I’ve laid myself out as a doormat. So why do I complain when people wipe their feet?
I’m the one taking bullets For those who can’t take five minutes To see that I am Broken.
So many people want to be DIFFERENT To stand out Be unique, brilliant, and attractive like a shining star So many people want to be the same To conform To fit in and belong like feet in a snug pair of shoes But, why? When one always wants the other is one really better?
I've been used like the shoes your ***** feet walk on. treated as a shower and left to scour your filthy mistakes away. I've felt like the bed whose heart has bled because it's taken for granted. Pierced like an earring, your ears are not hearing because you never listen. I'm not your clay of which you play, don't mold me to your liking. I am a flower who now holds some power, standing tall and standing strong. For you are the knife whose blade is now dull from stabbing me all your life.