There's an issue with me
With my mind
With the way I think
With what I write
There's an issue with me
With my scarred wrists and thighs
With the way I talk
With what I'm trying to hide
There's an issue with me
With my eyes
With the way I feel
With what is killing me inside
There's an issue with me
With my pillow
With the way I cry
With what I know
There's an issue with me
With my everything
With the way I do everything
With what I want to do
There's too many issues with me
That my body has broken inside and out
That the way I tried to live killed me more
That what I did was commit suicide in the end
There were too many issues with me
That you couldn't fix
That even though you tried I died
That no matter what you did I was broken..
There are no more issues with me
Because a dead girl can't have issues
A dead girl just has sadness
And a funeral
And fake people crying
Over a body
But no one ever spoke of the issues
So the process repeated.
Poor girl.
Poor guy.
No one should have to feel what I did.
No one should want to die.
YOU ARE READING
Isabelle's Poetry Journal (a continuation of Homesick Angel)
ŞiirMy name is Isabelle I am 15 years old (not my real age.) I am a "Homesick Angel" at least that's what I'm told I am called the people like me are called the people who are depressed suicidal empty numb those people they're just trying to go home T...
