Book of Random Ideas

Thoughts

I can hear the words of encouragement

But I always listen to the truths

That live in my head.

I know I'm not pretty,

I know I'm not smart,

I know I'm not that special,

I know no one will love me...

I know this, so why does everyone tell me this?

I don't physically cut,

But the ink on my skin hurts more.

It hurts wore than when the tips 

Of my fingers bled from the razor.

The ink is, branded to my skin

In the words I hear.

I want to stop, but I can't...

My problems aren't important...

I'll get over it...

I'm sorry, words spun on repeat in my mind.

Those two words killing me each time.

I'm sorry for failing,

I'm sorry for being tired all the time.

I'm sorry for everything...

I'm sorry for ever being born...

I'm mean, a bitch.

I made my baby cousin cry once.

I glare and snarl at people I don't like.

I even cursed at a teacher once...

I laugh at people's pain,

Even when they're really hurt...

I don't know why I'm cruel

Or heartless as some call me...

I just am...

But I don't want to be...

I just want to be heard...

To be understood...

Sorry...

I don't cry in front of people.

At least I try not to...

I don't trust people enough,

To let them see me cry.

My sisters say that when I cry,

It's beautiful of a sort.

But when I cry, I forget...

I forget why I was crying,

I forget who upset me... 

But then people know what gets me

They know how to get under my skin.

Yet, I want to cry so much...

Can I trust you?

I love to write, I love to draw.

It helps me become free.

Free from this world of pain,

Free from the thoughts that are endless, 

Free to show how I feel and have no one worry about me...

I love to write more though,

They all think it's just a story, they don't question it.

They question drawings though.

I still love to write and draw...