I cut myself.
Every night. With a razor.
And I make myself throw up.
I keep a notebook by my bed.
A documentary of my weight.
I cut myself.
And I do it for attention.
I do it so that people will crowd around and go,
'Ooh, look!'
'She must have depression.'
'Poor her!'
I wear shorts in gym to show off the scars on my leg.
So the teacher will send me to the nurse
and the nurse will send me to the principle
who'll send me to a councillor
who'll ask me questions
and who'll give me some clarification on why I do this
and who'll fix me.
And I'll have medication
and drugs
and punishments from my parents
but they'll have fixed me.
So I cut myself
and I do it for attention.
YOU ARE READING
Whiny Teenage Bullshit Poetry.
PoetrySome poems I wrote when I was being a whiny brat. Most teenagers in a nutshell basically. Most aren't particularly good. Whatever.