Smile

There is a little boy,
that's in pre-k.
It's nice to the smile on his,
almost everyday.
on an occasion,
I can see that it is fake.
sometimes I can see,
the bruises on his face.
I wonder where he gets them,
but i have an idea.
Sometimes I see,
the rage in his mother's eyes.
I wish I could,
take that mess,
off his chest.
Just so he could,
smile,
without it being so fake.

What Would You do

Your hear your little girl,
screaming in her bed.
You run to see her,
looking at you,
crying her eyes out.
You think,
what you should do.
When you walk into her room,
you go to her bed,
to embrace her.
As your arms,
touch her,
she begins to fade.
Fade from,
within your arms.
As reality,
comes into view.
You notice tears,
running down,
your face.
You realize,
that this is,
the fifth time,
this week.
You go back,
to last week.
The week,
that your little girl.
screamed,
and vanished.
All you can think,
is what you want.
You want,
it to stop.
Go away.
You want her,
to either,
come home,
or leave,
you,
alone.

Positive Quote

Skillet

Skillet

Author's Note

I think what I'm going to do is each week I'm going to post songs that people may be able to relate to.

Author's Note:

Poetry is the only way to express your self.  Sometimes music can really help.  To be able to hear some else be sad with you, is better than feeling alone.

The Grim Reaper

I know a person,
that you probably don't like.
This is the person,
that is with you when you die.
He is the one,
that will hear your last breath.
He sees you in your death bed.
He sees you when you say good-bye,
to all the people you love,
and they life you used to live.
He was assigned to you,
the moment you were born.
All he does,
is follow you around.
He hides in your shadow,
and sometimes deep,
in your soul.
He told me,
his favorite thing to do.
Toying with your thoughts,
and emotions.
He knows your weak spot,
in your heart,
and he will poke at your weakness.
The when you,
are on the edge of death,
if you're lucky,
you can see him.
He is the man in the black cloak,
and scythe.
Now do you know,
who I'm speaking of?
Yes.
The Grim Reaper.

Lonely in a Crowd

When you walk into a crowd,
what is the first thing you do?
Do you look at all the faces,
or do feel all the emotions?
The emotions of each person,
swirling in the room.
Would you rather go and talk,
or go and find a corner?
Can you be in a crowd,
yet still feel alone?
What do all,
those lonely people do,
when they're standing in a crowd?
Some try to talk,
some try to hide.
What would you do,
if you felt lonely in a crowd?

Depression

I hate my depression.
It is what brings me down.
I wish it would go away,
and just find another host.
Depression is my downfall.












It makes all my loved ones,
worried and mad.
I'm not sure,
how I got it.
I don't know,
 if it will,
ever go away.
When I get depressed,
I don't know what to do.
That is when,
my razor appears,
in my hands.
I start to feel,
a moisture,
running down my arms.
Then on my thighs.
Will this,
living nightmare,
ever end?
I'm scaring myself now.
And there is,
so much I hate.
But mostly,
I'm tired.
Tired of feeling,
the pain and,
the rage inside.

Little Girl

I am a little girl,
all on the inside.
But the little girl,
is in a scary caged.
And there's no light,
where she's been put.
She is hidden,
in the deepest parts,
of my head.
Every now and then,
I can hear,
a soft cry.
A cry of pain,
and a cry of betrayal.
I can feel,
her sadness.
Loneliness.
Hopelessness.
She asks me,
to unlock this cage,
that keeps her,
hell bound.
I know I need to help,
and free her poor soul,
the only problem is,
I missplaced the key.

Trust

I always get asked,
why don't you trust me?
I ask,
what happened to promises?
Or telling the truth.
All three of these things,
are not hard to do.
But people make it so easy,
not to do what's right.
And not believe a word,
that comes out,
of your mouth.

Somewhere

I wish I was alone.
That I could go somewhere,
where nobody knew me.
So I could just start over.
I wish I could go to a place,
where everyone left me alone.
Or a place,
where there was pain.
With only smiles.
A place with maybe,
just maybe,
only me.

Nothing

What do you do ,
when you don't feel anything?
Not sad.
Not happy.
Not angry.
Just nothing.

From Sister To Sister

Stacy,
I love you.
and I know it is true,
no sister is better,
better than you.
You write all these poems,
about being bad.
It makes me very,
very sad.
I hope you are listening,
and you are.
You are perfect,
just the way you are. :)
From Sister to Sister

Author's Note:
This was my little sister's poem that she wrote to me and i wanted to post it.  It shows that even though you may see your self as nothing special, or ugly, or stupid, what ever it may be, you're just lying to yourself. Thank you baby girl!! I love you too.

Cut

When I'm sad,
I like to cut.
I cut because I'm sad.
With each cut,

I see the blood.
With each drop,
My pain numbs.
How many cuts,
will it take,
to get to the center,
of all this pain?
Is there a way,
to make it all okay?
The light bulb  in my mind,
starts to switch on,
it is so bright that I can't see,
anything.
When will the pain
just leave me be?
I wish I could stop,
that thoughts that I receive.
I wish I could run.
Run far from me.
Run from the past.
Why can't I just leave?
I don't know if anyone knows,
but I'm I've been killing me.
Most people don't know,
What I think in my head.
What I feel in my heart.
And why I'm scared,
of my hands.
I could try to explain,
everything.
But nothing would change,
because no one can see.
the monster in me.

That Girl

Everyday on her way to school,
this little girl walked.
Head down.
No smile.
No emotion.
No sign of life.
She was sad,
so sad.
And very much alone.
She was dreaming.
Dreaming of a rescue.
Dreaming of a savior.
One that,
she never ever knew,
she was stuck.
No savior.
No future.
No laughter.
Just failure,
and probably death.
Then people would notice,
the hand print on her thought.
And the bruises on her face,
that were covered with makeup.
The cuts on her wrists,
that she tried to hide.
This girl grew up.
Everyday she would walk to school.
One day,
she didn't go to school.
One day turned into,
one week.
One week into
one month.
People started questioning,
"What happened to that girl?"
That girl,
had met her fate.
Now everyone knew,
what happened to that girl.
She died.
But even though,
no one really knew that girl,
they all felt pity in a sense.
There were flowers on her grave,
and one girl visited her everyday.
She knew what would happen to her,
if she did what this girl did.
Now that girl,
that visited the grave,
everyday,
runaway.
Away from her fear.
Away from him.
Away from the predator,
who killed,
that little girl,
that walked to school,
everyday.

Author's Background:

So I haven't really told any of you why I write my poems.  When I was little my childhood was basically taken from me.  I was abused physically and sexually and when I was little my mentality was really on auto pilot and I had all hope.  Some how I could see the light in the darkest places.  I thought that some how things would get better, but fairly recently ( the past year ) I had lost all hope.  I don't really understand why.  It kind of just happened.  I felt that I was done. Done with the pain and the anger and my haunting memories.  I true wish there was a way, to wipe my memory so it was as if nothing ever happened.  I am a very tired girl and all I wish to be it genuinely happy.  Not a stoned kind of happy but the happy you get knowing that you are going to be a big sister. The happy you get knowing that your mom and dad love you.  But whatever reason, I take all the happy things and make them bad.  And when I was met with something that was bad I left it alone and I let it smack me around-a lot.  Poetry is one of my coping skills.  It is something that I use to express what I see. Hear.  Think. And feel.  I want to thank you for listening, connected, and understanding.  And i really do hope that maybe you can share your thoughts and feeling with what I talk about.

Different

I wish I could be,
a different person.
Maybe with nicer hair.
Or for starters a typical life.
I hat all the memories,
That course through me.
All it does,
is prove to me,
how different I really am.
And all the flaws,
that I have.
What if there was a way,
that all the pain,
could go away?
All the problems,
would be gone.

Not Me

My little sister,
wants to be smart.
And she wants to be,
just like me.
I told her that,
was a really bad idea.
That I hope,
she never becomes me.
I'm such a bad person,
with mental issues.

What I Want to be

There is a big sister,
that wants to be the best.
I know her quite well,
better than anyone else.
She wants to be,
a good influence.
A teacher,
good example.
But her mind tells her,
she will never be,
as good,
as the desires she has.
Her mind always tells her,
how bad she really is.
How she will never,
get anywhere good in life.
Then part of her fights,
cussing out the bad parts,
of her head.
So that she can be,
what she needs,
to be.
A big sister

I Love You

There is so much that I could say,
about you.
Maybe you're funny.
Or maybe cute.
Or even amazing.
But I'm gonna say,
something I don't say enough.
Something to summarize,
everything.
I love you.

Author's Note:  This is my poem that is toward my little sister, Emma.  I love her so much and I really don't tell her that enough and I'm so sorry.  She means so much to me and I don't think she knows, that even when I get irritated or mad at her, I still love her so much.

Thoughts

I cut because of the pain.
The thoughts,
that go through my head.
They are the things,
that trigger my self hate.
My fear.
My sadness.
These things,
are like weights,
that I have to pull along.
Pull here.
Pull there.
Pull everywhere.
Why won't they,
just leave me alone?
All I want,
is to be left alone.
Please?
Go away?