Jul 22 Vita
I Suppose
January 15th
I write a letter to my school
Asking why, after 5 years of hard work
I am still beaten down and abused
By those who put in minimal efforts
I ask, why do you think its okay
That i can lay down in a field
Under their "care"

January 27th
I write a letter to my parents
I apologise for never being good enough
For being a borderline alcoholic
For squandering the life they gifted me
For doing drugs
For being sad all the time
Not everyone can be strong
For the strong to exist
So must the weak

February 1st
I write a letter to ***
I ask him if he intended for this
If I'm part of his plan
If all this torment
Is simply a part of something beyond my understanding
But i know it isn't.
I begin to ask grander questions
Dear ***, why is it that the thing
That makes up everything
Is the very thing capable of turning
Everything i love into dust.

February 15th
I write this from my room
Not to ***, not to my parents, and not to my school
There is no return address
This letter is to you.
Each and every one of you.
It reads as follows:
"Dear You, and you know who you are

We live in a vile universe
Filled with people who want to hurt us
Uncaring governments
Weapons of Mass Destruction
At any moment, the paper you read this on
The hands you hold it with
The eyes you read it with
Will all turn to dust
So heed this advice
Don't squander your time
Don't sink it to the bottom of a bottle
Don't **** it into a syringe
Find happiness in yourself and people
People who will not harm you
People who love you for you
Find yourself
With the best of humanity
Written after i suffered the crippling realisation that I've done nothing with my life
  Jul 22 Vita
     "This isn't who you are."

    "You're not the girl I used to know."

   "I don't know who you've become."

He repeats these lines
So much these days
It annoys me more than
A broken record ever could
Ever should
Ever would
Cause I told him
I warned him thoroughly

     "I'm not nice."

    "You won't like the real me."

   "I'm not worth fighting for."

But he didn't listen
He filled my head with empty
Promises that he meant
He filled my heart with hollow
Vows that he could never fulfill

     "How can a person be so cold?"

    "How can a lady be so cruel?"

   "How can you change so fast?"

He looks hurt and
I hurt a little
But I shut down
Cause that's what I always do

     "I'm nefarious, lover."

    "Had my heart broken a few times."

   "Now it's made of stone."
I hope Nefarious Breed finds this.♥♥♥
  Jul 22 Vita
I am adept
In the art of being okay
I have mastered the craft
Of covering my troubles
I use all sorts of fancy facades
Acrylic, oil, watercolor
You name it.

I can paint over nearly anything

You will never know
How late I was up last night
Or why.

My eyes flicker
Like candlelight
But you couldn’t see
You couldn’t possibly see
I’m too good
For that.

I can dance, too
Waltzing away my sorrows
Carefully tip toe-ing the
I get a standing ovation every time

I’m very talented, you see.

But my all time favorite
Is my disappearing act
I’m still perfecting it
Right now
But one of these days
I’ll show you
How I

Right through your fingers.
  Jul 11 Vita
This depression
is borderline elegant,
it flows through my veins
like smooth jazz
or a dancer's pattering feet
on the cold concrete.
This life of mine
has chaotic undertones,
don't be fooled by the silence.
This poem I write
is a battle cry
but it's also known to me
as a declaration
of certain defeat.
  Jun 8 Vita
Controller in his hands
My body in his arms
His eyes on the screen
He's not being mean
He's just prioritizing
The games over me
This was a daily and I can't believe it, you are all incredible, thank you for all the tremendous feedback and make sure to read the other mediocre poetry I have if you have time:):)
  Jun 8 Vita
Temporal Fugue
Why is it tortured soul's
poetry the best?

Pain and suffering visible
so much more poignant
than the rest?

Why does the angst engage
tears and sympathy?

Why is it my friend
they tear my heart
from me?
You know the ones
you know the feel
heartstrings, pulled apart

Soul in pain, by any name
a trip through ****
  Jun 8 Vita
What is pretty I wonder?
what is ****?

What is it about those six letters that cause such desire and pride?
What is it about those four letters to make one so sad inside?

Six makes you beautiful for a day,
Four makes you self conscious the rest of the way.

Who set the standards?
Who created this lie?
The lie that it doesn’t matter so long as you look good on the outside?

How can four make your soul crumble?
How can six make your soul sparkle?
Why does four make you die inside?
Why does six breathe you back to life?

So yes..
what is pretty I wonder?
What is ****?

Is it silky hair and velvet skin?
Is it smooth voices and shining grins?
Is it bright eyes and twinkling laughs?
What is it about six that four will never have?

Is it little freckles and crooked teeth?
With little regard to what lies beneath?
Is it bright red acne and stretch marked skin?
With no thought of the soul within?

They say four is a poison,
So they made six the cure...
But they had no idea
what six would make us endure.
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