I know how it feels to be invalidated.
The words, "try harder," and "just stop" replay in my head like a movie.
I would take that advice if it was that easy,
but that's not how my brain works.

I know how it feels to feel like an anomaly.
I grew up different from all the kids, I was weird and I had scars on my arms and legs.
If it were possible, I'd be normal,
but there's no fun in being like everyone else.

I know how it feels to be minimized.
We were both so young that it "doesn't matter."
I wish I could let it go,
but I won't forgive her until I get an apology.

I know how it feels to not be trusted.
I was too unsafe to be by myself.
I slept on my parents' floor in their bedroom, sometimes for several days.
but I don't know when I'll be able to regain that trust.

Warning- This poem contains graphic descriptions of suicide attempts and self harm.

I remember the days with my hands wrapped around my throat.
My wrists were cut up and my eyes were filled with tears.
I was only ten.
I never want to feel that way again.

I remember thinking I was better off dead.
I'd been almost a year since I'd cut myself,
but I sat thinking about suicide in the rain.
I was only eleven.
I never want to feel that way again.

I remember taking a ton of pills before school and sitting by the door with a belt around my neck.
I couldn't stop cutting, but I was feeling happy.
I was only twelve.
I never want to feel that way again.

I remember writing this poem.
I'd finished writing all of my suicide notes, with a plan to **** myself on a random Sunday.
I'd given up cutting and was on three antipsychotics.
I was only thirteen.
I'm ready to never feel this way again.

Warning-This poem contains graphic themes of suicide and self harm.

I find comfort in suicide.
When it's all your mind can think of,
it brings you comfort,
since it's just what you're used to.

I find comfort in train tracks.
It's the perfect place to slit my wrists with a razor,
while imagining getting run over by an oncoming train.
I can visualize my guts and blood covering the tracks,
as I walk along and can only hope death comes for me soon.

I find comfort in belts,
such a simple thing that's a problem for me,
because of the twelve times I've tried to hang myself with one.
Now I can't even close my doors.
"Can you keep yourself safe, Avery?"

I find comfort with my hands around my throat.
I gasp for air as I wait for my vision to go back.
My face turns purple.

I find comfort in the things you'd think would scare me.
Suicide brings me the relief that nothing else has given me.
Maybe if you knew what I've gone through,
you'd understand too.

Warning- This poem contains themes of depression and suicide.
Note-This is an older poem so it is a bit different from my other ones.

The skies are gray,
The curtains are closed.
My neighbors probably think
that no one is home.

I can't say I disagree,
I don't feel like me.
Maybe tomorrow
I won't be here anymore.

Sometimes I want to disappear,
So I just lay here,
practically in a sea of my own tears.
Thoughts cloud my mind,
Darker than the sky,
Cries and telling lies,
No one knows what's wrong with me.

I don't go to the doctor's,
But maybe soon the morgue.
Call the coroner,
Maybe they'll know what's wrong.

I think I know what's going on
But I don't think I can leave
This bottomless pit that has swallowed me.

Time feels empty,
but my mind is the opposite.
My heart is sinking
like an anchor on a boat in the sea.

My face is drenched with waterfalls;
Tears leave my eyes at a timeless pace.
All of this crying has stained my face.
My pillowcases are wet with sorrow.

I don't know how to live with such pain,
Yet I've gone so long.
But it's taken my life away,
It won't be long till I'm finally gone.

There's nothing more to say except the color gray.
It stains the day
And pains the way
That I can see colors.
It's been three years since I have seen sunshine,
A sweeter time.

When I was innocent,
And time came and went,
I could count seconds and minutes,
I felt I had no limits.
I could fly.

Now,
no matter how hard I try,
I am unable to fly.
My wings have been disabled,
Crooked with the passing of time
That of which I cannot sense.

I feel paralyzed
Like I'm trapped inside of an electric fence,
one with barbed wire that stabs my hands.
It makes me so tired to feel so trapped and unable to speak.

My body has broken down.
I've become weak.
All I can hope
is that the color gray
may not last another day.

Warning- This poem contains themes of self harm, suicide, ****** abuse, and more. If these topics trigger you I suggest you don't read this poem.

"I think your scars are beautiful." Said no one.
I carry the traumas of my past on my wrists and my thighs.
I feel like a gross monster.
Every day when I look in the mirror, I'm reminded of my pattern of self destruction and self hatred.

But I don't only have scars on the outside.
Open wounds exist inside me from the events of my past.
The memories replay in my mind like a movie theater,
and I watch myself suffer over and over again.
I see myself getting sexually abused, watching my parents drunken accidents.
I see ten year old me getting shoved into a countertop and I can still feel the physical and emotional pain.

Sometimes I want to slit my throat and cut up my wrists so I can be done with the **** this world has to offer,
But I know I can't go out like this, not so young.
I know that I have things to accomplish,
and I have goals to reach,
But it's so hard carrying this weight on my shoulders all the time.
I don't believe I deserve this.

Although I sleep so sound at night
In my mind rumbles an endless fight
Each side believes that they'll get more
Make no mistake: this is war.

In my mind, I live alone
Inside a house of cobblestone
There are no neighbors, and the fight is violent
But inside the house, it gets too silent

The thunder clashes with the ground
The demons fire off another round
Angels strike them with their bows
So round 'n' round the battle goes

Why they fight, I cannot discern
The demons cheer with each soul they earn
Lost souls gather to find their way
Falling victim, becoming prey

An angel falls, a demon dies
Such things happen when fighting lies
Each side is right, but both are wrong
Both cry out their battle song

The truth of war, the why they fight
Is sealed up in a copyright
Action stars and movie scenes
To drown out the righteous screams

An angel saves a soul at last
The battlefield feels so less vast
A total of souls saved was seven
They were blessed to get to Heaven

Angels and demons call a truce
The victim puts away their noose
For once at last, peace is found
Thus ends the savage battleground

Then the darkness comes back 'round
Just when they found their common ground
It starts again, just like before
Make no mistake: this is war.

Could I be your sky,
so close,
yet unreachable?

Could I be your brightest star,
looking so near,
but still so far?

Could I be the angel watching over you,
endless love,
too far to give?

Could I be your best memory,
didn't think you'd miss me,
but you do now that I'm gone?

The one who stood up here before
Who couldn't take it any more
Went through with her plan.

What would be my legacy?
Just like me,
I could turn the statistic
Into a curvy figure too—
Not a straight and slender one.
But being realistic,

I find the strength to turn away
And face the world another day
—A continuing man.

You need to let go, they said. Letting go will set you free;
you need to forgive.
I have forgiven: it just wont let go of me.

Precisely what makes you think I'm worth this anyway?
this time? these resources? this care?

Do you not smell the putrid rot, see the maggots of my madness?
The glass is half empty of milk -
curdling and spoiling on the mantle.
I have scrubbed well over a decade: it wont wash away.

Each night is a relentless gruelling warped dance of the damaged,
the steps are foreign and ****** the ever encroaching darkness,
I am not mine-

What can I bring you to impart clarity?
I have laid myself bare under both kind and cruel eyes;
let you um and hmmm at my broken heart, my tainted body -
and take a microscrope to the intricate spoils of my mind.
I have endured the indignity of supervised showers,
the callousness of those who have known nothing but love
submitted to regimes of drugs lined up like soldiers on the front line
and down one by one they went

And now beyond broken, I crumble to dust lost in the wreckage of myself
This tsunami of darkness mounts an assault so violent -
its merciless, it violates, I am imprisoned: silent scream.
The growing insanity reclaims me for its own: it gives me over to him.

Instinctively I recoil, squirm, curl up tight - futile foolishness.
It isn’t supposed to really be real. But perhaps I really do belong there.
I let her go. I am ready to let me go
Drained and pained, exhausted and alone.
How my mind betrays me; how my body fails me;
I berate myself for not being better, stronger, more acceptable.
I am a slave to the black dog.
He bites and ravages - savage being
feeding off the fear and hurt of the girl who was impossible to love.

The painful depths are beyond the grasp of language now
and every nerve is burning;
invisible fingers tighten around my throat and I choke on silence.
Hope’s whispers are lost in the roaring barrage of abuse.
I fear I am irretrievable; the ferocious love loaned out
never was returned leaving chunks gouged out of my heart.
I have fought for my life and drenched myself in knowledge.
But the war is savage and my ammo spent.

What is this demented tumultuous madness?
It burns, scorches, consumes with forced acid kisses.
I retreat into myself but find myself locked in a cage -
one to which I no longer have the key.
I fear I will never have my death of this, of him -
I’ve had my fill of being ill - of being owned by a man who came to ****.