Dying Song (poetry)

She Isnt Okay. TW

She's the type of girl that says 'its okay' when she feels the burn of spilt coffee,

When a dog jumps on her she laughs and ignores the scratches and nips,

Bumps in the hallways from the older children don't make her cry,

She's the type of girl that feels love when her baby sister tugs her hair,

It sounds so positive until you know the truth,

Then the negative creeps in when you least expect it.

But it isn't the burn of coffee,

Its a lighter guided by a her own hand.

Her black and white nails remind her of a dog she once saw,

They drag across her skin occasionally leaving nips,

It isn't the children that bump her but her own force of self hatred,

And its only her that sees the small dents in the wall but big bruises on her body.

No baby sister but instead her depression,

Ripping at her trying to work its way into the mind,

And it worked.

Taking over like cancer,

Turning the dark corner in her mind the only place in her mind.

She is not herself.

She is not okay.

And she doesn't even know it.

                      -JRR