I'm more than my perfectly curled hair,
My flawless skin, my beautiful nails and
Model-perfect outfits.
I'm more than my big chest, my skinny waistline,
My perfectly toned legs and my adorable feet.
I'm more than someone's pet, a pawn in someone's
Twisted game of chess,
A prize to be won, or a piece of garbage to be disposed of.
I'm more than my body, does anyone realize that?
That I'm smart and kind and funny and independent,
And that I have more talents than simply putting on makeup?
Is society that messed up to think that
You must either be smart or beautiful, kind or pretty?
I'm asking you, pleading you, to think of me as
More than something to stare at.
Because I know
I'm more.

The smoke fills the air, poisonously stifling.
The destruction of my lungs, i'm forever denying.
Others see the destruction, reflecting it to me.
And when I look into the mirror, death is what i see.
Does this art of decay express my true being?
Nay, the only purpose it serves is the creation of a deadly scene.
Life without death, I strive for a balance
And I manifest such through the expression of my talents.

I'm locked in a room with a desk and a chair.
I want my stomach filled, but the cupboards are bare.
I'm sitting here with only one option:
To continue to write, during this lock in.

Is writing a talent?
I say to myself, as I look over my shoulder at the book on the shelf.
What about Melville, and Shakespeare, and Twain?
The all have much knowledge to send to my brain.

But people these days just don't understand
That we can do more than just sing and dance.
There are so many talents that slide under the rug.
"I wonder what mine is".
I say with a shrug.

But then I remember that I am equipped
With a whole set of skills that are right on my hip.
They rest as a tool belt, and as a reminder
That if I wanted to, I could go farther.

I can cook
I can clean
I can do laundry...

I can draw
I can paint
I can write,

I can play the piano
The gutair
And the harmonica:

I can talk
I can listen
I can learn.

you are not my type, but i don’t care.
our conversations are not interesting, yet i like talking to you.
you don’t have any talents that will make me feel interested.
the things that you consider hobbies are boring to me.
heck, i’m not even attracted to you, but i like you.

My only happiness comes from something everyone hates, MATH
Math is my love and my passion. I just get so excited when I see problem I can fix. It feels like I can do anything after I do the biggest word problem.  I love helping people with math and showing them my passion. Solving problems is like eating chocolate for me. I thrive on it, strive on it, and feel alive on it.
Even though math is my thing, I hate it.
I hate that math is what I have to rely on rather than singing, acting, writing, sports, confidence, courage, and even magic. People with these talents seem like they can do anything and be anything they want. They do not have to worry about what they are going to be in life or where they are going to go. They are going to go far and reach the stars while I have is problems.  

All I have is
Mental
Abuse
To
Humans

There is a voice that shouts to my heart,
"You won't succeed; just don't start."
But there is whisper from my brain,
"If you fail you get a chance to start again."
Both these voices are mine
It's true.
Believe in yourself;
your greatest enemy is you.

Your time is precious.
Know that, value it, and only give it to those who deserve it.