We're just people
it's the sad truth
we lose our minds
and don't know
what to do
where to go
what to say
to you?

You're hard for me
to expose myself to
because I don't want
you to see through me

Because honestly
underneath my boring
exterior, I'm really sad.
and it's like you don't know
but I am
and there's nothing that you
or anyone else could really do
that'd change that fact
The fact that I'm literally
going no where
I'm a walking piece of nothing.

People think I'm just a stupid girl who writes more stupid things.
What they don't know it's that the stupid things I write about is in fact my life.
So basically my life it's stupid.

People think I don't care about what they say about me, because what it's not true it's not going to hurt me right?
Wrong, absolutely wrong.
I would like to feel that way every time they tell me something less positive about what I write.
But I don't.
So basically I can't lie about how I feel when I write.

People think love it's true, magnificent and perfect.
You exist to prove that they are wrong.
So basically love it's just a word with legends.

People think that I'm a suicidal girl who hates herself.
What they don't know it's the effort that it takes to pass by another day, breathing, knowing that your life is ****, but still writing.
So basically I don't care about my life, but I care about my poems.

People think they know why I write.
But they don't.
Because none of them would understand that I write to heal myself, I write because it's the only way I can feel alive, they don't understand that.
So basically nobody knows me.

People think they know everything that they need to.
But they don't.
You know why?
Because they don't know me.
They don't know you.
I'm glad they don't, some of them are just stupid people like me right?
So basically the world it's stupid,

And I'm in it.

Hopes is what i see when im with her,
She is back now, but will she stays?
Seeing you brings memory,
Memories i try bury deep inside,
Memories i spend months to discard,
But she came back, only now its different.
Hoping for things to be better,
Working and building towards it,
She smiles such things is going to be okay,
But suddenly she just walks away,
Again she just slips away,
That glimmer of hopes,
That i never seen in a long time,
Just again it fades away.

i am still my past,
that stupid little girl,
with that stupid knack
for crying,

and i am still her future,
for shes still a little stupid,
and still cries with that
horrible talent for crying,

and i am still alive,
even if im stupid,
even if im crying.

You ask what I'm thinking, and I give you
Some line I wrote in freshman English.
Then you sit there telling me I'm so insightful,
But, God!—I've got you fooled.
I am not special or interesting or
Different;
I am a girl who reads poems
(Far too much Bukowski) and
Lets the flicker of the TV lull her to sleep.
Night after night it's some new hero telling a girl with big eyes he loves her,
And then they're living 'happily ever after'
Like it's some place you can drop by for a postcard and a bite to eat.
It's *******.
Still, look at me—I eat it up,
Let it sink so deep that it digs through my bones
Until I'm practically made of the stuff.
And the worst part is, I'm running around spouting all this fairy-tale garbage,
Like maybe if I say it often enough, it'll come true.
But, of course, it never does.
You never burst through the right door, and I never cry into the crook of your neck.
I don't love you, and you only think you love me:
The ***** who reads Bukowski.

Honestly I am so done with your ****
*               I need help, won't you do this?
This time no, I don't think that I will
I'm tired of trying to do a good deed
just for you and it comes right back-
freezing my heart some worn out
number below zero degrees. I'm
so tired of trying to be there for you
always 100 percent and you just not
seeing it. you made me go from types
of sublime to forms of somber. You
were never really-TRULY-there for
me I now can remember that, simply.
This is my goodbye, don't contact me
again in this life.