I will never be wanted,
Whatever I do,
Whatever I achieve,
How I look,
I´ll never be loved the way I want te be loved.
The way I deserve to be loved.

It hurts so much,
When u know
U have so much to give,
To offer,
Your heart is so bright,
and open,
Your heart listens,
Loves,
and cares,

But you´ll never be wanted...

The number of worlds that exist
Just inside my mind
Is enough for someone to insist
That there is a mistake in my design.

They stir and they shake,
Yet nothing can compare
To when you smile for my sake
Or run a hand through your hair.

When I'm with you I feel
As if I'm in the imaginary;
I forget that it's real,
Not crafted by the words in me.

It's only when I think back,
When I am trying to sleep,
That I remember it's not mind crack;
That I might be in too deep.

The first thing I see
when I pull out the top drawer
was the diagnosis. Meds, there you go

it pretty much said that.
I wondered about all the
creative people doing
some remarkable things,
creating and being alive.

Except they all one day
killed themselves.
Van Gogh stood in
the overgrown field before
he shot himself.
Sylvia Plath knelt down
and stuck her head in the oven.
Virginia Woolf grazed the smooth
peebles, thinking about what
she would write about those peebles,
Only to shove them in
her pockets and drown in the Ouse river.

Nearly everyday, I tell myself
I want to be a writer, or an artist-
Both, actually. That’s all I ever
wanted to be, but the fear of
spiraling, and becoming them
Is deeply disturbing.

Yet, I craved for this life,
To paint, and create stories
with a dash of madness
They all did likewise.