Help, Help is what my inner brain weeps because i'm losing myself it seems becoming this nasty vile thing
Not human no not this being, for this sick thing is full of guilt and selfish thoughts that it’s done no wrong
Help i ask myself only for the being to ignore it drowning itself in teenage angst because it has nothing better to do this creature is me even as hard as that is to see , gross gross thing get help and flee from me, my body i don’t want you nor should you want me this thing is not me and I never want it to be

work,
sleep
work,
sleep,
work,
sleep,
work,
then work again

stuck in this digital timeline
the days never passed
it’s always on repeat
like time is a concubine
living with wealthy billionaires
working endlessly day and night
making her ends meet
so nobody will know what day it is

who will make this world a better place?
huh, the rich only care for themselves
we’re disillusioned to the fantasy that money
will fix everything in a flash
a bandage on a wound, as they say
but it leaves gaps and crevices
it will never be healed from the blood it leaves
the blood will always fall like rain on a wedding day

i am not a robot who will end up in a dumpster
if i am no use to everyone
if i am no use, what i am then?
a entertainer?
a maid?
a office worker?
a human?
who i am?

"Who am I?"
Is the question I keep asking.
“Who am I?”
Is the reason I keep lacking
And as you girls walk by
I think
Oh, what a sight to see
because

I could never be
as sweet and kind as her,
or
as driven and ambitious as her,
or
as smart and unique as her,
or,
as talented and creative as her
or,
as funny or relatable as her

So which traits make me different from the rest?
what traits are mine, the query heavy on my chest?
is there anything which I am the best?

What makes me 'me'?
Is the new question I keep asking
What makes me 'me'?
Is what keeps my worth sinking

Who am I, that I should stand
That I should speak as though I understand
That I should sing when words fail
That I should live to tell the tale
Who am I, that I should write
Of one beyond our mind and sight
Who am I, that He might save
When I should be the one in that grave
Who am I, that I should look on love
And feel him smiling from up above
Who am I, that I should gaze upon Him
Against whose radiance the sun is dim
In Him I find my identity, who I really am
A child of the king and a precious lamb

He calls us children and loves us the same
He knows us and calls us each by name
Who is He, that He should send His son to die
That He was earthly virtue personified
That He would serve and love and teach
That across the miles and years He would reach
That He would come again one day
Who sent His Spirit to us to stay
Who is He that considers me worthy
Who is He of endless grace and mercy
He is my everything: my beginning and my end
He is my strength and shield in whom I depend
He is mine and I am His
I am a child of Jesus!

Trees,flowers,leaves and grass
All so different
But all live in harmony
Different shapes and sizes,
All together,
In tranquility.
Why cant we?
Seeds from different plants
Expressing ourselves in different ways
Some could be considered beautiful to gaze
But have thorns hidden like a rose,
Whilst some are considered hideous but feed others, like weeds
Thats why roses focus on beauty,
And weeds focus on personality.

To love me is to put up with a messiness I inherited from my mother.
The displays of self loathing and self sabotage i work on daily.
The clothes I leave on the floor.
The coffee cups in the sink.
The bed unmade and the too many shoes.

To love me is to deal with an annoying amount of independence I inherited from my father.
The acts of self serving that I work on daily.
The know it all moments when I’m working on something or fixing something.
The confidence in my work ethic, my persona & who I am.
The laughter I have over everything.

To love me is to know the loyalty and respect I’ve inherited from my stepmom.
The empathy I still long for and work to find daily.
The care over details.
The nurture I give when you’re sad or sick.
The standing up for you but also putting you in your place.

To love me is to cope with the stoic coldness and wandering spirit I’ve inherited from my grandma.
The parts of me you’ll never fully know that I work to show you daily.
The look of dismay I sometimes don’t know is on my face.
The inability to stay in one place for too long without going insane.
The moments I want to run away and never look back.

To love me is to cope.
Cope with knowing sometimes I’m mean.
Sometimes I’m sad.
And sometimes I love fiercely and passionately.
To love me is to love all of me.
Everything I’ve inherited and everything I’ve learned and unlearned over time.
To love me is to be loved in return.