HurtingToBeAWriter

I’m crying You don’t see My voice wavers You don’t care How could you be so cold Not noticing me Not even knowing my name Do you even care Back off You can’t be so close Yet so unobtainable Are you trying to torture me I say yes to someone else Hoping you’ll get jealous Yet you don’t see So I call it off Don’t you see I need someone to love me Don’t you see I need you

Eyes follow her as she walks down the hallway Alone Hands cover people’s mouths They’re laughing at her Her so called friends mutter You aren’t good enough to be in the musical You’re too ugly to try Isn’t someone supposed to see her pain She walks into class Tears in her eyes The teacher keeps teaching Is she all alone Someone befriends her just to push her down She is still All Alone

She holds her head high And dreams of everything she can be While every comment she hears Is like being stabbed in the gut She pretends not to hear When she’s really just trying not to fall If only she could make it to her next class Before her barrier recedes She dreams of all she can be If she can make it that long She dreams of a happier life For them just to turn into nightmares Her dreams don’t exist The person she wishes she was doesn’t exist Her soul is dying Is she only an empty shell?

She’s an artist But she doesn’t use paper nor a paintbrush Words her inspiration Her frail skin her canvas On her rough calloused skin Is her portfolio She hides it away underneath many layers For her art is one with a jaded connotation She’s an artist Weapons replace the paintbrushes from her childhood Her art is hidden and unappreciated But nonetheless, she’s an artist

Shivers run up and down their spines The quiet air hacked to pieces Loud sobs fill the cold and sober room They hold each other tight Tear stained faces and heart wrenching sobs Break the heart of the church pastor How do they conduct a service for a fifteen year old Who took her own life Do they address or ignore the cause of death A suicide service Is an impossible consolation For the family of someone who hated life so much she decided to end it How could they be consoled knowing Their daughter won’t ever grow up And she did that on purpose Just a baby girl Hardened by the world And to know nothing they did could keep her here

I know a little girl Who wants to give up She can’t handle this life anymore She talks about seeing me “on the other side” Is she okay? She is not okay She cries in her sleep Waking up with her head on a wet pillow And red puffy eyes I’m worried about this girl She’s my dear friend And I want to save her How can I save a little girl Who put herself on her own deathbed How can I save this beautiful little girl She refuses to eat She can barely get out of bedSweet little girl wants to die

How can I lose you And be forced never to think of you again How is it we each go our own separate ways And disappear for each other's minds How is it I can lose a sister I can lose a best friend And still be expected to move on with my life How is that a fair expectation Just because we’re fighting different sides Of the same war Doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends But I guess it does I’ll see you on the other side But in the meantime My heart will breakEvery time I think of you

She cries in the dark In the dead of the night Next room over is fighting again Her sobs silent She tries to comfort her mother Her brother too She’s strong for them But cries when she’s alone In her head she’s dying Self harm and suicide take over She’s had to be strong for too long She can’t anymore This is the second set of pieces she’s had to pick up First her parent’s divorce Now a messy breakup She can’t do it She’s weak and sensitive She’s strong when needed She needs a breakIs that break when she slits her wrists for the final time

After all the lights go out And the neighborhood quiets to a dim silence The demons come out of their hiding places To roam my mind They talk to me Calling me a fat whore Who doesn’t deserve to eat Or live The demons are familiar with the white noise It’s their home And their preferred method of torture Their words tricked into becoming my own Their slimy cold words Slipping into my open ears Tricking my brain Making me cry I scream for help But they suffocate my pleas My demons left me all aloneIn the dimly lit corners of my mind

What if you knew your baby sister was sitting in her room Blade to wrist Praying to God to end it all What if you knew your older brother thought he was all alone Sitting in the coffee shop down the street Writing his note What if you knew your mom used to self harm She has scars she hides from you and your siblings Says her past is behind her now What if you knew your dad tried to jump once His life saved by that man you call your uncle but aren't related to But never knew he was the paramedic who rescued him What if you knew you were someone’s reason to stay The boy you sit next to in band with the faraway look in his eyes that yo

For him, broken bones would set in hours, burns would heal in mere minutes, cuts would close in just seconds. But the lashes she gave him, the scars she left, carved out years ago into his heart, are still, to this day, tender to the touch, something time can never truly restore.

Did anyone notice that she winced if you raised your arm? Did anyone notice that her eyes were wide with alarm? Did anyone notice that she never looked you in the eye? Did anyone notice that her voice was but a sigh? Did anyone notice that her skin was always bruised? Did anyone question whether she might be abused? Did anyone question why she walked in obvious fear? Did anyone question why one day she did not appear? Did anyone recognize her face on the six-o’clock news? Did anyone see her remains pulled from the river refuse? Did anyone care that this quiet girl no longer exists? No.  No one did. And she will never even be missed. R.I

Here's a little story about me, about my skill to paint a grim little scene, to make the mind creak, to talk of those things which we don't like to speak. I was a girl of sixteen and I had a dream, to exist so broken hearted that I would know, know to the core, that love was as real as I thought it should have been. I was dramatic to say the least and wrote poems spanning ages, wrote of crashed cars and seeing those eyes again later, FEELING that stare, knowing that though time had passed, he'd not actually gone anywhere. English class came, seemed so lame, most days in the back with the boys, getting out of work with the most clever ploys.