my poems

black butterflies

i remember when i was little and naive. i didn't understand the term "ignorance is bliss" or "age doesn't matter" at the time. and here i am young - entirely too young to have experienced this much, to have been hurt this much, to feel this much - but i do. and that's why we write about and tell our only friend who actually gets it because no one else our age does and parents laugh when you say you hate life and try to explain why. adults don't understand that just because i am a teenager i can't feel the pain of heartbreak or hate myself the way i do, "but i do!" i say in my head, knowing that my mother would shake it off as a laugh and a "i remember when i was your age." and you know it hurts when you finally feel okay with yourself and the one person you care about tells you you're putting on weight. it hurts when you're torn away from people you love and you can't do anything about it because all you are is a teenager with no say. my father told me that. and it hurts to keep it all inside of you and to write poems about how you feel and you can't tweet it or tell anyone because then they wouldn't see you as "mrs. perfect" anymore, and you can't have that. you can't let them know you don't want to eat anymore because your mother called you fat. or you want to stay home every day so you don't have to fake a smile and shove it all back in your head as the sun rises. because then they'd see you as that hurt girl or they'd say you're depressed and there'd be more rumors and you can't handle that. ignorance is bliss, they say, so you protect them from your own head so the black butterflies don't fly out and land on their arms to leave scratches and bruises. oh, but, child, you're just a teenager, you don't understand real hurt, yet.