My poems are the black roses on the grave of the girl I used to be.
They came from the girl I am now.
Each rose has the title of each poem I have ever wrote written in gold.
"I" (meaning the girl I am now) stand in the rain, looking at the headstone, reading the words numbly.
No one can see me. I'm an angel.
I tell myself, "It will be okay," over and over again.
It's useless.
It will never be okay.
The part that scares me the most isn't moving on, but becoming numb to all the things I once loved

I will not stand on the sidelines while he takes the glory.
I plan to wake up every morning to the cold Alaska air, grab my helmet and go weld on a huge pipeline. I want to work where I know I will be treated just the same, where I can weld in peace. Enough is enough when I say "I will not stand for this." I don't want to work in a cubicle and wear a pretty skirt, writing cute little stories that will never happen. I am  welder, and that is what I'll be.
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FUN FACT: I love to weld, and if you have questions, feel free to message me. This poem is written to try and open peoples eyes up to the fact that women can weld just as good as men. we are no different.

"I will not bow, I will not break, I will shut the world away..."
(Breaking Benjamin)

I have Rosa Park's mugshot in my room, to remind me of what she did for equality. She refused to give up her seat on a bus for a white man. I have countless books filling my shelves, each one filled with Maya Angelou poems. She didn't let anyone tell her what she could or couldn't do.

So why should I?

Why should I dress from head to toe in black, and leave my house with a male relative? Why should I marry a man I do not know, just to please my father. Why should I put my head down and do what anyone tells me to do? Why should I lower myself to a standard to a lower standard than what I deserve? Why should I not feel like the queen I was born to be?

Why should I give up on what I believe in, just to satisfy the status quo?

Can anyone answer that for me?

Help Me
Help Me
I'm **** between Heaven and Hell. No one has come to save me. No One will help me. It's pure hell where I am. All I hear is screams and cries of painful torture. The Devil is among me, he wants my soul, he wants my heart. No one will save me, for all of my cries meld with the others. Save me. Please. I can't hold onto what little hope I have kept stored for years.  You are nothing without me. Please don't loose me. You are all I've got in this world.

Signed,
Your mind

There is no monster like the one inside your mind. There is no truth that can cut as deep as a knife, as the truth that is said inside your head. There is nothing heard clearer by your own ears than the screams your mind's screaming in your years. You are not the enemy, but you are the only one who can save you in a time like this.