His eyes are hooded
                             the looks are dark
Horror fills the twisted thoughts
                             threat of violence in every move
he mumbles to himself
                             walking along alone, surrounded
by those he would save
                              if only they would let it happen
already hoarse the voice continues
                             a throaty whisper filled with angst
at how they treat each other
                             with such disregard
the pains they all seem to feel
                             hidden with false facade
he wants to help them
                             with words or thoughts or deeds
but all he knows is violence
                              it's all his life has been
no other option is clear to him
                              only to fight is known, and so
no-one looks beneath
                              the frightened grizzled face
the eyes pooled with lonely longing
                              a hero without a place
for his aspect does reflect the world
                              a true mirror to this earth
for within burns a soul that wants to help
                              and he does not know how
to extend a hand in graciousness
                               though the palm is much scarred
he cannot, for that lesson
                                was not taught to one as he is
So avoided he is
                                This noble soul
For we cannot look beneath.

I look at my hands sometimes
these old, battered appendages
this is how i see the world
this is how i feel
and they are weathered
scarred and hurt
but still they work
in pain and toil.

My hands are who i am
and they never will touch
you.

dear dreamcatcher,
i thought you were supposed
to take away the nightmares
not get them *out of my head
and *into my life

If you are trying to change a; person, relationship,  or environment, and it doesn't change - leave before it changes you. Things are what they are; you have no control of that. You are what you will; you have full control of that.

I'm always the strong one,
The positive one,
The funny one.
But strong ones don't mark their skin is secret,
Positive ones don't think about suicide everytime they close their eyes,
And funny ones don't lock themselves in the bathroom and cry to the point where they can't breathe.

So do not call me those labels, because it is simply not true.
-a.c

for the first time
since i was 11
i look in the mirror
and i actually like whats staring back at me

i don't know why it took so long to regain
the feeling of self love
and being content with less makeup
or none
in the mirror

i wish i know what could have happened
when i started looking at my little 11 year old body
and thought i was overweight

Oh my god i'm 75 pounds?! i remember thinking

I could blame my mom
or the boys who paraded naked pictures of me
criticizing my changing body in its early stages

i was made fun of for having supple *******
the first girl in my 4th grade class to wear a padded bra

i hated it
every second of my changing body

i started to get curves
and was known for having a "big ****"

and this "best friend" of mine told me she was glad she didn't have one

a boyfriend shot me down
"you can't leave me because no one will want you"

mother and step dad made fat jokes when i was 14
because i'm not obsessive compulsive with my diet

now i look in the mirror and i'm so happy
i love every curve from my arms to my ankles

and my dark brown eyes stare deep into you don't they?
grandma wasn't kidding when she said people would pay
THOUSANDS!! for these lips
and this square jawline has it's perks

i used to get paranoid when people stared at me
until i caught someone
and they told me i was beautiful