As much as I want to hate her I can’t. 

For someone in the world loves her, and who am I to undermine their love? Who am I to question it? Something so pure, my very opposition taints it. 

Who am I to form opinions as strong as hate based upon something as whimsy as my own emotions? Something as temporary as fleeting thoughts and feelings, an explosion of devastating consequences, the provoking act over in but a moment. 

Who am I to pity myself? To judge you so harshly for my own flaws. To see you not as you but through the filter of my own ego. 

 I’m sorry. 

Sorry my heartbeat is so loudThe thought of it pulsating in my chest disgusts me 

I’ll tell it to shut up for you
I WANT TO DO THINGS ON MY OWN BUT I CANT

IM FUCKING PARALYSED 

PETRIFIED

DEAD INSIDE 

LET ME DIE

Even breathing is difficult 
I’m so scared that this will hurt but I’m equally terrified that if I don’t go through with it I’ll never feel anything again. 
Why is my mind trying to hurt me so much 

I am not a candle light

Flickering

Blown out with a single gasp or wheeze of the wind

I am a supernova

I am required not only to raise the spirits of others, but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing. – Frankenstein

Iceberg

You can only see 1/8 of an iceberg above the water

Kind of like a person
If you get to know even 2/8 of a person you’re lucky, and know them better than most
But I’m not an iceberg. 

I’m not deep or impressive or sparkling pure and beautiful. Im a little life boat, carrying a lone survivor of the shipwreck, limp and frail and shivering. I drift through the water, hoping to find land, but heading in no direction in particular. 

I crashed into you by accident and now I’m sinking, my fragile cargo at wits end. My sides are scratched and broken, yet I still feel more stable in this scenario than I did when I was adrift. Despite the fact that I am drowning, I am glad I found something in this vast ocean. 

Airtight

The fog rolled in. The world looked like fading watercolour on canvas, like it wasn’t even there, the paint used to create it was washing away and had hardly even been present in the first place. If I stepped outside now would there be an earth to walk on? Has the universe disappeared so that only this room currently exists? It sure feels that way right now. 

Life is a circus with colourful ribbons and streamers everywhere as distraction distraction and we’re all performers with our little sideshows as distractions distractions distractions and lies and we make everyone’s heads spin but only our minds can keep up with all our own distractions but sometimes we slip and the glitter fluorescent lighting gets too much our brains frazzle in the spotlights and the room spins too fast. We can’t keep up with all these distractions. What is there besides the distractions distractions

Spots and Beauty Spots

My body disgusts me

The way it grows hair

And sheds flakes of skin

How fingernails stretch out

Toenails curl

Earwax accumulates to soften the sharp noise from my surroundings, dulling my senses

Isolating me

Smothering me in my own personal silence.

Childhood monsters

I wrote this as a piece of homework (it was never taken in to be marked however.)

The assignment was to write a poem in response to ‘To my Nine year old self’ 

Childhood Monsters. 

Losing track of the days

Is it okay if

I don’t want to do this anymore