My name is Ashlyn. I'm 15, I have dark black hair and I'm chubby. I'm not a perfect silhouette or image of my dreams. I'm not one of them girls who poses on Instagram and I don't take photos of my thigh gap and post it on tumblr and reblog photos of smokes and boys.
I'm Ashlyn. I'm 15, and I'm funny
I make jokes out of everything and I'm very sexual and I make people laugh. That's my best feature.
I'm Ashlyn. I'm 15, I'm sad.
I make people laugh and I remember I hate the way I look and I hate the way how sometimes I go home and when my mum yells at me I get so angry that when she leaves I slice open my skin.
I'm Ashlyn. I'm 15 and I'm me. I'm learning. But I'm me. I'm alive and sometimes that's all I am be. I'm not okay, but I'm alive. That's so much better then not being here.
I would be Ashlyn, 15, and nothing.
People would forget.
I'd be nothing.
YOU ARE READING
Mismatched
PoetryI'm depressed and my heads cluttered with so many words and thoughts, but i wouldn't simply know how to 'describe' this writing article. Simply, its just me writing out my thoughts and feeling whilst being in the mist of depression. **trigger warni...
