I know I shouldn't judge a book by
its cover man.
But half these books have me wonderin.
And if we weren't supposed to judge than why are people dying in the streets?
"I can't breath" yeah guys that really happend
All because his cover was blackened!
Yet a mother got off for killing her babbies!
This **** has me in a daze see
Her cover was innocent and thats all the judge saw
Didn't care to look inside for an answer at all!
And parents teach you not to judge
Except " dont get to close to that homless man. Hes probably on drugs!"
When really that man on the ground he defended our "Great" country
Now hes left in the gutter with the thought "no one will touch me"
All because you let his cover device you.
Preaching to the Millennials that covers reveal true
But rapisit and murderers they look the same
As a friendly neighbor
Or a ******* lame
And now we grow up thinking our cover matters
"Why is my cover bigger, why can it be flatter?"
"My corners are to sharp"
"That covers' illustration is to much, haha, and they call that **** art!"
And we dress up
And we dress down
And try to look interesting
Now there's no story
Something is missing
We've cared so much about judging one another
That all we have left is an empty cover.

i can not realize
if i am dying,
you may find me dramatic
but i have a twisted obsession

sometimes it makes me want to run
far and fast
instead of having this trapped feeling in my chest
causing me so much internal pain
making me feel like its pain is mine
its problems are mine
since my problems are suddenly its now.
i do not know how to help
because everything i do to try to fix this
makes things worse.
i feel as though
i do not deserve it
because it gives me so many things
that i can not give in return.

i am crumbling underneath this pressure
to fix what is broken
to fix it without wanting to change it
because that is wrong.

when i try to reach out i am pulled back by such regret
since it is so kind to me
and it does everything it is supposed to
and gives me so many things i do not deserve
so why am i still sad.

darling
i love you
but i think that's my problem
i love you but you are like a slow acting poison
i love you but you are a ticking bomb strapped to me
i love you but i do not believe in love
i know you are killing me, but i love how you **** me.
when i want to be alone,
darling you miss me
i can see from a distance i'm dying
and i know you want to try to help it
and i know that my better is your worse.
darling we are a match
we make a huge fire
and we burn each other out faster.

you accept me for who i am
even when i don't
and when i want to change
and improve upon myself
you are the molasses stuck to my feet
seeping into my skin
leaving me still
dreading who i am
unsatisfied because i know
i can fix my problem
but you think i am lovely right now.
i embrace change
but darling you dread it.

this isn't me breaking up with you
because you may never see this, darling
this is me telling you that despite all this
i'm still here
because i'm still invested
in every extending branch of your life
darling this doesn't mean
i won't go down swinging
because i can fan our fire
until we burn down forests
and then some.

i am not always sad
its just often
often i'm sad
often i feel little to nothing
but you don't accept nothing
you accept sad.

darling you warned me
you told me that you would get boring
and i couldn't believe you
but these days it seems like
you've told me everything
and its all the same
you try to help my problems
all the same
you answer trivial questions
all the same
i keep digging
but i feel i'm at the core.

i'm the "right here right now" girl
because there were girls before me
and there will be girls after me
and you may forget me
and i may break your heart
and you may act like its the end of the universe
but it isn't
and you'll move on.
you aren't the "right here right now" boy
you are the first
and i don't want you to be my first mistake.

i wish we moved slower darling
so i could get to know the real you
before i volunteered
for something i didn't understand.

darling
this isn't goodbye
because i'm at the core
but ill keep digging
i will sit through this
until i can't,
because i'm alive
and i believe i can be happy
with you, darling
this is just the hurt
written down
so i could know
when someone finally says goodbye
when i found out
that i'm dying.

Faulty factory toys are fun to use, at first
Blue eyed girl with the white blonde curls
From dads side of the family
They coo at her
Before she learns to walk
And talk
And talk
And talk
When they built her in the baby factory
They must've forgot the little red button
The one that says
"Shut up for one single solitary ******* second and let someone else speak"
She doesn't pause to allow the other person the liberty to flit words through the air like songbirds
Instead hers land like pheasants
Shot in the skull
Trickling out opinions that were never asked for
With the brain fluid.

She's got a lot of them too
Opinions
And they're all right
She knows everything there is to know
At seventeen as well
What a prodigy, she thinks
What a nuisance, say the wise men
What a delusional idiot
What
A
Bore into her skull and all you'll see
Behind the kind eyes and philosophy
Is a witch
Entranced by the enchantment
Of her own voice
A selfish *******
Who buys her birthday presents at the last minute.

At least the parents got to have a test drive
A prototype
So they knew what to do right this time
Factor out whatever it was
The ingredients with the sell by date
That made this thing so near to right
But odd enough to be 'not quite'.
This time make one that's not lazy
That's not selfish
That doesn't want to be a ******* artist
That lets others speak
That can contribute and participate
Not sit on the sidelines
Heading for burnout
Heading for disaster-

Uncheck the box this time that says
Sordid mind
That says
Can't reply to texts
Even when friends are on the edge
of suicide, For ***** sake.
Tick the box that unveils the beauty of humanity
Fix it's eyes
Teach her to see these sacks of meat
The way others do
The way you're supposed to
Instead of like puzzles or pictures or packaging for a soul
Create a person not afraid
Of making mistakes
that can make her own decisions
This time make a mind
That can jump through the hoops
Society left behind
Fix her this time
Don't make another freak
On the fringes
Never quite fitting in

And the funny thing is
Even after this ******* perfect kid
Comes along and shows that blue eyed blonde-haired girl
Just how to do it
She's an old *****
No use teaching her new tricks
She'll shut out little miss pretty perfect project two point oh
She can't seem to help it
She thinks the best company in the world is her head
Her head?! Have you seen it
It's barbed wire and sunshine
It’s a rose choked by thorns
Do not touch her-
She will make you bleed.

//

The definition of thot [that ** over there], via Urban Dictionary

A woman who pretends to be the type of valuable female commodity who rightfully earns male commitment—until the man discovers that she’s just a cheap imitation of a “good girl” who is good for nothing, and definitely not for relationships or respect.

If women are products, then thots are cheap goods. More than that, they’re knockoffs: low-quality merchandise that attempts to masquerade as luxury items.

They generally dress in cheap clothing, try to act like they're better than they really are, or think they're not ****** but high class when they're nothing close to classy. They demand respect, money, gifts, dates but do nothing to deserve any of it because they have no self-respect, no manners, low self esteem, little education and on top of all that they are thots because they have no self worth.

//

he called me a thot.
the same blood-boy nightmare who bragged about his ******* and double cup. too cheap to buy actavis generics, so he drank himself into a stupor on walgreens brand dye-free cough syrup. he acted black, said words white boys shouldn't have near their mouths. his friends were ableist at the best, and misogynist at worst.

he called other girls thots too.
but i was different. stick-and-poke told trans king who told american spirit who told blood-boy what i confided in a friend. a story that ends and begins with my tears, tears from gagging, tears from telling my mother about the worst three minutes of my life and how my knees and heart hurt afterwards.

i embodied thot.
left my family for friends, joked about the pain until it hurt even more. i found myself crying in bathroom stalls, looking down at my body in the bathtub as i learned to breathe water. the girls said i was thick, i didn't know if they meant it in a good way. the boys said worse. i wore camouflage pants, comme de garçons tops, air force ones. i jumped on trends like a wild cat stalking prey. but i could never catch anything worthwhile with my soft, clawed paws.

he smiled like he was better than me.
after blood-boy stunned summers and winters alike, burned spring and fall, and for what? to call me a thot? i knew what i was to him. but he didn’t define me anymore.

he called me a thot.
and this time i fought back with my eyes, didn’t just sit there and feel words welling up inside.
because even thots are queens.
because i used to be deciduous, but now i’m evergreen.


//

Look around, nothing but hatred surrounds you.
A burning world consumes you into this reality.
You have to be perfect, or no one will love you.
Perfect long, curly blonde hair.
Twig thin legs, and a stomach that doesn’t exist.

Pretty looks is key, but don't wear a lot of make up.
Being smart is attractive, just don't talk too much.
The perfect guy won't notice you, without an *** or big *****.
If he likes you for you, he's just a ******* looking for nudes.
He'll lead you on so you fall, then leave after one night.

However, in the end if you don't like your outside..
you can stick in needles and tissue to change.
Next thing you know, your skin is turned into plastic.
And darling, what boy wants to date a living Barbie doll?

Now take a look around, the unnatural town.
Everyone's faces fitting like jagged puzzle pieces.
The reality now eating you alive.
But remember, no one will love you if you're not perfect.

Do i remember? Of course.
How could one forget such a thing.
All of the hopes and dreams
That soon turned into fears and nightmares.
The constant cry and reach for help,
But no one is near.
I remember it all,
Especially every “i love you”.
But you didn’t know love,
All you knew were the lies that flowed out with no filter.
The tears that streamed down my face,
Because you couldn’t love me… for me.
You couldn’t love my flaws,
Every single white line that scarred over my body.
You said you loved me. You said you loved them.
But you hated them even more than I did.
You didn’t hate them because who would feel so low
To do such a thing, but you hated them more because the were ugly.
Ugly.
Ugly.
You make me feel so ugly.
He makes me feel ugly.
Even she makes me feel ugly.
Because the ******* number on the scale,
Is more important that inner beauty.
90.
100.
120.
125.
130.
Numbers increase while meals decrease.
Jean size gets bigger and your smile fades,
Now replaced with a thin line.
A thin line.
A thin line.
A.
Thin.
Line.
That's what you expect for me to be perfect.
So thin so that you can’t even see my presence enter the room.
Instead you’ll feel the dark shadow consume you.
Because being skinny and pretty,
Is better than being healthy.
Happy.
Happy.
At this point is now a blessing,
More than a feeling.
Because your happiness made me live,
Made me feel alive.
Now i’m alone, but i don’t need to wonder why.
Being smart is pretty,
Being skinny is per-
Per-
Per-
Perfect.
Its perfect.
Do you want to make it in this world?
Make sure you’re… perfect.
Nobody cares about the 10 size girl,
With scars on her legs.
Or the 2 size girl who looks too skinny,
To be happy.
Too skinny.
Too fat.
Too happy.
Too sad.
You have to be perfect.
The perfect height.
The perfect size.
Perfect hair and perfect face.
Makeup can make you pretty,
Until you wear too much, now a ****.
Now a **** because you slept with guys,
Just because of the dark around your eyes.
Don’t let them see you cry,
Over the thickness of your thighs.
But hush little baby,
Don’t you cry.
Cause mamma promised you’re beautiful.
It’ll be alright.
Hush little baby.
Hush.

When you experience intrusive suicidal thoughts 75% of the time,
You really forget what it feels like to not feel suicidal.
Having those thoughts there consistantly becomes apart of you.
Waking up in the morning and not thinking about ending your life is a breath of fresh air.
Like a weight is lifted off my shoulders.
But there are some days when not feeling suicidal feels strange.
Like a part of me is missing.
And I find myself wondering why I haven't had any intrusive thoughts in days.
Not that anyone actually wants to have suicidal thoughts.
You see,
I always talk about getting better.
How I want to get better.
But what is ¨better¨?
I didn´t hurt myself today.
I took a shower.
I went into society and talked to people.
Is that being better?
Has my mental illness completely disappeared?
No.
My brain chemicals are still imbalanced.
Today I was just able to function more than I did yesterday.
And maybe tomorrow I will function even more than I did today.
Every day I am growing,  and learning,  and coping.
But I will not ever be better.
I will simply be a different person than I was the day before.