You're a wolf in sheep's clothing
You're a snake in the grass
You're a piece of bubblegum stuck to the bottom of my shoe that I can't seem to get rid of.
Wait, that's not an idiom.
But I can't find the words to describe you
No word in the English language, no sequence of words, of phrases, of syllables could accurately describe you
But I'll try.
Scumbag.
Flea ridden dog.
Two end pieces of a moldy loaf of bread.
A clock that I keep looking at that never seems to change.
An outfit that is two different shades of black.
A baby that reaches for someone else when I try to hold him.
You're anger, deceit, lies.
What was it that you told me when we said goodbye?
We've cried enough.
Because my heart is a well that will never be filled, and yours is not even a bucket.
Your pail promised me a future, a ring.
A lifetime of firsts.
And I believed you.
I wonder if being as shallow as a puddle made it easier.
Maybe I can't blame you, because with a heart as flimsy as a piece of paper, it must be so easy to tear.
All I can wonder is if you sent us the same goodnight message.

The girl with the empty eyes
Is really just shattered inside
She’ll sew together her broken heart
But it no matter how hard she tries it will just fall apart
She’ll glue the pieces of her soul
But she can never make it whole
Bullied and accused
For defying your ****** up and broken views
She’s dying
And she’s crying
And she’s lying
Cause she tells us she’s fine
But she’s not
Cause she’s dying

The boy with the sad smile
Feels like he’s in exile
His dad left long ago
And his mom is never home
He cries himself to sleep at night
Because he’s tired of this endless fight
You tell him to drown his demons
And to arm himself with weapons
But his limbs are so **** tired
And he’s all to uninspired
To continue in this life

These two
And too many more
Have to fight
A broken fight
Have to live
A broken life
And your best advice
Is to sew on a smile
Because psychology says that that’s worth their while

They're stronger than you
Whether you like it or not
And unless you can understand
The constant fear
And reprimand
Of their life
You won't stop
And soon you’ll find
Their blood
Is on your hands too

And you’ll realise
This demand
Of societies homeland
Turns peoples life to a swampland
Of bland perfection

And to those
Who can't check the boxes of these messed up questions
Remember that your life
Is not for their inspection
It’s to teach others lessons
It’s to make an impression
It’s to find your purpose
And know that no matter what you are worth it
This life is worth it

And If you forget all of this yet
At least remember this noise
My voice
Telling you
To stay alive
To open your eyes
To recognize that when the day is done
You are the one that has won

I know You’re put in a ring
And you’re demons are who you’re fighting
But you have to know
That even though
The bets are placed
And the odds are low
You can still put on a show

You are stronger
Than you believe
And I know you can fight
Or at least fight alongside me
Because you are not alone
We are not alone

We are together
Stronger than our foes
And we can win
In this broken world
We can win this broken fight.

I wish I was strong
I wish I was strong enough to get out from under the comfort of my sheets
Or the warm water washing over my body in the shower
I wish I was strong enough to open my books,
Instead of listening to the same five songs again
I wish I was strong enough to get over a loss,
Be it a failed exam or a boss I can’t beat in a video game
I wish I was strong enough to help my friends
Because that's the person I strive to be
I wish I was strong enough to keep that job
…

I wish I was strong enough to like my own works
But it’s hard to when they look like this
No rhyme scheme or metaphors
Only thing this poem has got going for itself is that repeating stanza
Real clever or whatever
You call it slam poetry
But you might as well call it sham poetry
Slam poetry
Because you need to be slammed drunk to enjoy your poems
And don’t even pretend like you didn’t notice
How no one seems to give a **** about this
This series of ‘works’ that you’ve been putting out
Where all you do is ******* swear and shout
At yourself
******* hell

I bet your last line would have been
“I wish I was strong enough to love myself.”
Boo ******* hoo
Too ******* bad
Because you’ll only love me the moment you realize
That what I say is true
I’m not gonna say that I’m only rude
Because I love you
I hate your guts too
much for something so…
Sappy
You’re a bit of a sentimental, right, boo?
If sentimental meant pushover

Criticism!
Sorry, didn’t mean to scare
Oh wait, no, I don’t really care
Because even you’re aware
How you’ve locked yourself in an echo room
And the moment someone tries to break through…
“Don’t worry, I can take it.”
And then you write something edgy like this
You can’t take advice for ****
Because that’s your ******* deal
You’ve got tonnes of people giving you the advice that you need to heal
And you ignore every single one of them
Acquaintances, friends, family
And what about me?
DO I REALLY NEED TO ******* YELL TO GET THROUGH TO YOU

But It’s pointless anyway
You’re on auto-pilot already
Just cut the act and write your cringy addendum poem
We’re done here

when I was 14 I was force fed contraception and never got a taste of an apology
when I was 14 the phrase "I'm not ready" wasn't a clear enough interpretation of "no"
so instead of presenting my case in front of a judge, I presented my virginity in front of a 17 year old boy.
when I was 14 I didn't know I was being ***** until a week and a half later when it happened again.
and even through my broken sobs and nightmares, my own father didn't believe me for over a year.
when I was 15, I was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder because the distinction between love and tear stained pillow cases was nearly non existent.
when I was 15, I made the decision to drown the flashbacks in a sea of painkillers, and in what followed I met thirteen other beautiful girls who shared the same story I did.
when I was 16 I realized something had to be done.

for two years I hid a badge labeled '**** victim' under long sleeves and red eyes because I was too ashamed of what I let happened to myself to get help.
I was told I made a false accusation, when in reality the only fallacy is in our justice system.

**** is not always a white t shirt with specks of blood in the back of an alley or a drunk uncle with a wandering eye. **** is not always screaming at the top of your lungs and fighting for your life with a knife to the neck. it is not always textbook, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be taken seriously.