BrokenCan't fixwhat's never been whole.
Her Demise.She never had a real childhood. You see, it’s quite the challenge to “just be a kid” when all you’ve ever been told was to “grow up.” She was only seven years old when she was honored with the title of “Breadwinner.” That’s when everyone found out about her sibling’s condition. Her younger sister was autistic and so helplessly naïve, and her family expected her to be their saving grace. Not wanting to disappoint, she did what she could. She trudged along the path; she pushed through those ten years with a plastered-on fake smile and an empty vessel for a heart.From mowing lawns to not eating lunch at school to kissing strangers and getting dropped off on the curb; she did all of the above. She did everything in her power to provide and care for her loved ones. She sacrificed her time; her dignity; her life. And though she hid it well
The Death of Her......And so the heavy handof human nature crushedthe remnants of her sanity.Reality stilled theirregular beating of her will;the Darkness further shroudedher withered innocence. "She was drowning...But nobody saw her struggle..." She succumbed to her misery.The Darkness triumphed.
Shared Misfortune...I know how it feels to be lost.I know how it feels to have nowhere to goAnd there’s no one to trustI know how it feels when you’ve been hurtAnd the rage- the agony- becomes intolerable; uncontrollable The emotions run deep like toxin in your veinsYou just can’t force your hate upon othersYou despise yourself enough to self-inflictThe bleaknessYour crippled anger.The hatred inside.This misery of yours:You’re tired of it.This everlasting pain:You wonder when it will end...I know how it feels liketo believe in hopelessness...And to just not believe at all.And I know how it feelsWhen your best friends stray.When the ones you love, turn their backs on you;Go the other way.And everyone you turn toCriticizes what you can’t change.When the oppressor looms overhead to oppress.Even your reflection judges you;You dread to look in the mirror.I know how it feels likeTo not know where you belong.You don’t know where’s you
DryCutting myself drybecause of you.
This Is Depression The darknessand Iare one.
Point of ViewMy world has crumbledto black and whiteDulled to a rainbowof graysHardly a wispof color in sight...Only darkness remains.
SkinnyShe purges on an empty stomach.
Daddy's Little GirlShe never was, never will be.
I Hate MyselfI hate myself.No hatred is stronger than mine.Nothing can compare,No other can measure against this.People's advice of "It will get better,"I never accept,because they have not been through the pain I've went through.They just don't understand.So, I'll just throw it all away.Inject the love into me. Take all of me and fuck me senseless like the filthy whore I am.I want you to abuse me,I want to feel something, I want to feel again. I hate being insecure.I hate being short.I hate being stupid.I hate being ugly.I hate my voice.I hate my laugh.I hate fairy-tale movies with happy endings. I hate capitalism. I hate dreaming big.I hate optimistic, ignorant people. I hate being a freak. I hate being judged.I hate having friends that are mostly girls and I'm a guy.I hate having no friends to hang out with.I hate my reflection.I hate being weak, my vulnerability.I hate leaving my family ashamed of me.I hate that I can neve
...Wind up my heart, butlet it go.because it's Clockwork,and i'm running out oftime.
I Love YouI don't know you, but I love you.This isn't something you have to do.I see you staring at that knife,Thinking about ending your life.I don't know what's made you bitter,But please just reconsider.You are loved no matter what.No ifs, ands, or buts.I just want to see you smile.I know it might take a while.Remember that someone cares.I wish that I could be there.I'll talk whenever you need me,No matter what it may be.I may not know what to say,But I can listen any day.Just remember you're not alone.Let my love always be known.
A Broken HeartIn a corner,I sit lonely.A broken heart,That's kills me.Curled into myself,I sit and cry.So alone,I just want to die.Why did she do it?What did I do?I can't stop crying,Because we're through.Talking doesn't help,I shouldn't even try.No one loves me,I'll just sit and cry.Someone sits beside me,Maybe she's my peer.She wraps herself around me,And whispers in my ear.You'll be alright,I promise you.Please cheer up,Because you are not through.Someone will come,And you will see.They will love you forever,And you'll be set free.She stands up,And stand in front of me.My tears stop,I feel a little happy.Maybe I will find someone,The ex is just a blur.I stand and think,Maybe it's her.She's beautiful,She's carefree.Maybe, just maybe,She belong with me.
HereFour year old Keaton gripped a green crayon in his tiny fist, pressing it hard against the paper. His parents fought beneath the sound of the tv in the background. Scribbling in rhythmic circles, he furrowed his brow. His mother came into the room, a dishtowel in her hands."What are you drawing, Keaton?" Her voice had the tremble of someone forcing their words to sound happy."Money," he said, then glanced up.She came closer, examining the pages scattered around him from behind. All contained a dollar, done again and again in various sizes."You've drawn a lot of it.""Yeah," he said, "we need a lot, so we can be happy."She put a hand to her lips, standing there, then bent down beside him. "Money can't make us happy, Keaton.""I am going to draw so much that you and daddy never fight again."His mother sighed, putting a hand to her forehead, and was silent for a moment as he continued to color in green bill
Get upHear me read itShe sat on the edge of her bed staring at the floor. Within her scope of vision there were many things she could look at. Many things to think about and process. There was a slate blouse that had wilted at the bottom of her bed, or her pale foot placed beside it. The foot looked unnatural there, with no pressure to grip it to the ground it looked unbelonging, like a cast aside prop. Yet she did not look, or think, or notice.She just stared, blindly, for an hour, her thoughts were obnoxious and churned the paltry paste of self-disgust in her heart muscle, but they were relatively quiet as she repeated over and over in the forefront of her subconscious "Time to get up."Time to get up. It was time to get up. It was time to get up and get on with her life. It was time to get a life. It was time. It was time to get up.Unprovoked tears swelled and scattered loosely amid this trail of thought. She kept going, over and over, It
Tumbling Down He said he was smart enough to be a Mensa member. She asked what that was. David said it was a group of people who took a test and were admitted to Mensa only if they tested as geniuses. Susanne just looked him, not entirely surpised and not entirely convinced David was right about that. Without knowing, and in light of what David did or didn't do for a living, Susanne went back to reading a novel she picked up on her weekly trips to the library. Susanne and David had arguments now about those novels she read. She read everything from bestsellers to older classics, including children's books (she had no children) and non-fiction about fiction. David insisted that reading any fiction was a waste of time. "Why?" Susanne asked. "Because fiction doesn't teach anyone anything," David said. Susanne put her current
Falling LeavesHe's flying To Heaven. Falling leaves Burned his lungs. All that's leftIs his most primal desires.
dreams of inkno, it cannot be erased.please rememberthat:no, it cannotbe erased.
The DancerHear me read itThe night I met Jessie she was beautiful. She swayed to the almost intolerably loud music as if her bones were made of it. She was something unknown. I remember the sharp cut of her hair had run across her cheek, parallel to her carved-out cheekbone. It looked like a wig, I wanted to touch it. I wanted to touch her, and see if she felt like plastic. Who could ever believe that someone so perfect could be so real. I regret that. I regret doubting her reality.Eventually she bought me a drink; she called it an Appleté but trapped in the pulsating fuchsia lights of the club it looked purple. It tasted like jealousy; sour and eye watering. When I told her this she laughed a little, apparently she'd heard that one before. I drank it anyway. I wanted to slot into my assigned role in her fantastical world.We talked a little. She served other men drinks. The ones in the shadows could have been my reflection. It was confusing. The
CandaceI have named the lumpin my throat Candace;and she is what her name means-penitent and contrite,remorseful for every word that slipspast her because they all havecome out misshapen and wrong.
Something's WrongMadness boiling away, beneath my skinMaking broth of my bones, cooking me like meatDevouring everything; blindly, without prejudiceWiping away all of what made me myselfReplacing it all with spider's silk and moonlightAnd dark passion, black enough to taint the saints' tonguesSomething's wrong inside me
Sticks and StonesThey say words can never hurt you.Silence does a better job.
Dirty LaundryLoading up the washing machine, and my mind is sprawling around in several destinations far from this cramped room. I spritz my clothes- no, actually I drench them with that spray- the kind that's supposed to work miracles on any stain before the affect fabric even goes in the washer. This was my favorite shirt. My favorite shirt. I'm just not thinking today, am I?The cotton feels good on my fingers, even though I'm stuffing it roughly into the machine. And all the towels...I didn't learn it until I'd moved out, but Mom was right: washing towels and clothes in the same load led to an outright ungodly amount of lint stuck in everything. I pause. Do I really want to do two separate loads?Yeah, why not? Water begins to fill up, and I'm dousing it with that lovely detergent that smells so good and pure.I sit down opposite the machine and just stare at it for a while. It rumbles pleasantly, numbly, and my mind drifts. What a nice sound, surely one could just meditate with i
I Can't Take It AnymoreI can't take it anymore.Make it stop.Is life worth it?Why do I bother?Would you care?Would anyone care?Breaking point.Last resort.Maybe life isn't for everone.The razor and the slice.Slit my throat.Suicide.Gone forever.
some things do not last.like a black hole,i toowas oncea star
ScaredShe extended her hand and reached for the door. Her body trembled violently in fear.Gently, she wrapped her fingers around the brass knob.It was time to face the day.