Love *insert puke emoji*
I’ve been crying at the moon the universe the outside , god , the window my pillow and all other things I think would listen ; to send me love . Some one for me , but what if of They listened, what if they heard the desperation of a prepubescent girl begging to know what love feels like because lying that she had felt it started to make her feel raw , it made her chest hurt , it felt like a black whole opened in her chest ant was sucking her in . But what if she just didn’t know , what if she won’t ever
I didn’t want to die I had to
i read through my will, I mean my poems , and I laughed not because it was funny, i stopped laughing at my mental illness years ago , but because If ended this unending river of darkness that tears at my mind and slowly turns every good memory bad , everyone would be shock , unless you read my life story, let’s call it that . But i noticed no one like my lyrics anymore, has everyone shifted Melodies , did you all grow out of feeling the way I do , did you all get friends who saved you , did you— fall in love , if you did can u teach me ,it was etched into my brain that men are bad and i know that it’s not all but when everyone tell you something your whole life you belo and even when you know it doesnt change what you believe
Could you tell?
21 and untouched , if anyone asks I just haven’t found the right guy
the truth , my Love language is touch yet I get an anxiety attack when I feel like I’m about to be touched
yet I hug everyone, could you tell
21 and broken, I cry when I see people with people who love them , I cry when I see a mom and a daughter laughing, I cry when I see a daughter safe in the arms of her father , I cry when I see my siblings because i know they are loved especially by me yet I’m always smiling , could you tell
i Call myself a writer but I only write when the dark thoughts are winning , when I feel my chest tighten and I’m holding back tears and I’m weak , yet if anyone asks what’s my favorite thing to do I say write , I love the pain could you tell— it’s all that I know , it’s all that I have it’s who I am , could you tell
Do Villans want to die?
Sometimes I write poetry and sometimes I sit and cry as I let my self go in words , trying and failing to ask if anyone is listening, if anyone would care in 6 months after my funeral where everyone would lie and say how lovely I was, how much potential I had and how loved I was
When in reality I was made out to be the villan so many times that I started to believe it , I stopped having to remind myself to be the villan to keep myself safe . It came naturally, I was the villan, I am the villan
And there is nothing people love more than a dead villan
Rest in peace to the old me
I'm losing my self slowly
That's the problem with change
You see progress but truly
It's your soul growing
It's my heart taking a hammer to everything i though I was
That's the problem with maturing
I did it too soon , I forgot smiling
I didn't learn to enjoy laughing
But the crying
The crying and screaming and the pain
They come running
I thought that if I murdered myself and rose from the ashes I would be great
But I'm still mourning the old me
At this point I feel like I'm the problem
I feel like my emotions are an overreactoverreaction
I'm going from place to place trying to fit in
but how do you fit in
how you become happy
When every mistake or moment of self doubt you have leads back to the same place
Why wasn't i good enough for them they both left
The only two people who should have loved me unconditionally left and replaced me