❝ i'm not weak

she says to herself,

every morning,

whilst picking her battered body up,

from the dust-littered ground ❞

when the world leans in to kiss you

brush your lips over it’s needle-death jawlines 

and say

“thank you.” 

I think you've ruined me

in a way that doesn't quite hurt

as much as it suffocates sweetly.

There's something about

looking back on everything you've said

and finally seeing each lie

as they scraped your bottom lip

on the way out.

I think I was addicted

to the taste of your blood

when I kissed you.

It seemed to mingle well

with my tears

and stained my lips just enough

to mark your territory

as the summer home

that seemed more fun

when you were younger.

I hope that one day smiles will be more

Than a mask for sadness to wear.

I hope one day, it'll be more than just a costume

For photographs.

I hope one day, smiles will all mean the same thing.

Happiness.

They are all around you

Those who love you

Those who don't know you

Passing on a word

Or a phase

Or a statement

Just words they let fly

Something new

Something excited

Just to keep them interested

Never knowing they hold the key

That could break you down

Or hold you up

All they want are stories

Stories to fill their boring lives

But those stories can hurt

Those stories can kill

All they want is stories

But stories are dangerous.

I glance at myself through the eyes of others.

Could this really be what they think of me? 

Am I really beautiful, kind, smart, and funny?

Are they seeing the real me?

What do I do?

Have they tried to see me from my own eyes?

Ugly, idiotic, depressed, anxious, broken, and mean.

That is how I see myself. 

She sits alone

dreaming of a better future

a day of acceptance

not this repulsion

but hope loses its grip

...it becomes apparent that these looks

will remain the same.

In our youths

we write tales of passion and

Love because

we dream of that.

But what is the reason we don't now? 

It really makes us wonder, if dreams really do come true.