She reads and never understands.

Where does she think, exactly, that I'm getting all this inspiration?

I leave myself alone with my mind too much, I think.

Maybe if you throw broken glass at me
I'll finally understand what it feels like
to be shattered. Right?

I want to feel the tiny stabbing pains inlay
themselves in my face like diamonds until
I can't feel my lashes.

And why, you ask, do I want to learn this
pain more than I want to live myself, and yet
you forget I am more.

I am more that you'll ever be because I wish
unlike one I've ever known to feel the pain
that comes with life.

Because I know
we are lost
without it.

He changes his name
again and again

to love the rain and the life
he left behind

He changes his name
over and over

to stop the hurt and the feeling
he feels every day

But most importantly, he changes his name
constantly

to block the love and hide from the glare
the world gives off

If I write about how much heartache and depression I'm facing
I'll never get noticed
anywhere

simply because in order to catch someone's eye
you have to write about what's
real

and apparently, all the hurt I experience on a daily basis
is simply a figment of my
imagination

And the shadows danced on the walls that night
and the obscurities all ran free
and the solsticed pure gold ran through all their veins
and their hearts, full of unbounded glee

And the demons danced hard
and the angels sang loud
and the grave diggers crooned with the light of death
and the machines stood tall and proud

And the life glimmered short
and the death died threefold
and the love in her throat did choke her ideals
and stories unspoken were told

And the yews all did spy
and the night tables, play
and the lovers all screamed with force of the wind
and the scaly eyed pecans died that day

And alone in the corner sat
and with not a care in the world
and with the weight of my friends atop my broad shoulders
and i died as my stress did unfurl

And I bled unfiltered light
and I cried from the start
and I made sure my friends would never feel that feeling
and I let them destroy my heart.

Maybe you weren't skinny enough.
Maybe you talked too much.
Maybe you wore too much perfume.

Maybe you were never home on time, were a lousy cook, never made the bed, and liked ***** a little too much.

Maybe you weren't eloquent or quick enough, maybe you didn't have the willpower to stand up for yourself.

Or-did you ever consider-?

Maybe you were too perfect.

Everyone thinks they can name me.

Hannah.

Daughter, sister, student.

Niece, neighbor, friend.

But my name, my name, hasn't been foretold
and never will
because my name
is Nobody.

What's yours?

Im growing up
Im becoming man.
And with becoming a man,
Society has laid expectations
That i have already broken
Without growing to complete adulthood.
ive already cried in public...twice
Men arnt supposed to do that! Be real!
i hang out with mostly girls
Bros before hoes you ***!
i let my sister paint my toenails
Are you kidding?!?! You ****!
Men...see men are mean.
But...im not.
Men are fearless.
Im scared of ****.
Men are ripped atheletes
I will NEVER look magazine worthy.
Men are *** machines
...im still a ******. Ha!
Men dont care
I do....in fact...i do alot!

I am a man
But that doesnt mean
im a steriotypical one
;)