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CanvasLet her paint a masterpiece,
Let her paint a lie
Let her paint a word inside the shining silver skies.
Let her paint a mystery,
Let her paint a sin
Let her paint the things that lie in darkness deep within.
Let her paint a masterpiece
(but this time there's a twist)
Make the brush a blade and let the canvas be her wrist...
Lying is Bad (A message to myself)Hello darling.
Have you ever held a needle to your wrist?
Have you ever skipped a meal because you were hungry?
Have you ever punched your stomach before falling asleep?
Have you ever felt wrong, because you told someone you were okay? (After all, lying is bad.)
Have you ever rocked back and forth without realizing, until someone else told you to stop?
Have you ever slammed your head against your wall so you might forget your situation?
Have you ever cried in a thunderstorm so no one would hear your cries for help?
Have you ever worn long sleeves and said it was because you were chilly... then felt horrible? (After all, lying is bad.)
Hello darling, I know you have.
But remember, you're strong. You're worthy.
You're more powerful than your sadness.
You are incredible.
You have been through more than you know,
And fought through more than you know...
And you've survived much more than you know.
You are going to make it.
You are going to push through this.
You are going to
Secrets...Secrets are things that people won't tell,
Despite the greatest truths
Hidden within them.
Secrets are things that people lie to
In fear of you finding out what's
Sweetie, here are a few secrets
That I feel must be shared,
Because they've been kept for
You are beautiful. You are stronger than your weaknesses.
You are unique. You are different. You are perfect.
You are not defined by your sadness, nor are you defined by the stereotypes.
You are not broken, despite the the scars and missing pieces.
You are powerful.
You are a fighter.
I know no one has whispered
These things to you.
The only things that people won't tell,
Are the secrets.
And that's because the secrets are true.
If you are a victim...If you have ever faked a smile
Slit your wrist
Cried yourself to sleep
Wished yourself gone
Chased a dream (and lost it)
Ended up in a nightmare…
Turned away from your “friends”
Tortured yourself over an error
If you are a victim…
Remember to stay strong.
Because you’re only a survivor
Whisper For a Good NightWatch me break
Watch me snap.
Watch me as i finally crack.
Watch me bleed
Watch me scream.
I beg you to leave
And take your pain from me.
Watch me run
See me hide.
Watch me writhe from all the pain inside.
Watch me breath
Then watch me die.
Kiss me and whisper for a good night.
love and hatredI love you.
I hate you.
Stay with me forever!
Stay away from me!
Will you listen to me?
Will you ever be quiet?
Is everything okay?
Everything will never be okay.
I can help you!
I can hurt you!
PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE!
I'm trying to help you!
NO ONE CAN EVER HELP ME!
MuteI rip out my vocal cords
One at a time
With no disregard towards
The blood and gore I'm
Getting on my rotting palms
No one cares anyways
They wouldn't care if I was dropping bombs
They're too wrapped up in their own days
Why make myself mute
Now they can't hear me complain
About my oh so very cute
And insignificant pain
Now they won't need
To suffer anymore
They will be freed
From me, only a constant sore
Attention Seeker"Attention seeker."
As I slide the knife across my tongue
The poison resting in my lungs
Fighting till the war's been won
But you're right, this is all done for fun.
The rope around my neck as I pull it tight
The struggles I face as I die to fight
And slowly, I fade off into a dark night...
Goodbye, smiles, goodbye, light...
Dying, breaking, losing sight
Of all that's proper, all that's bright
With all my strength and all my might..
I mean, I do this for attention.. right?
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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