The truth

Labels

When the girl who was called a "baby" cries out with longing and no one is there to answer her.
When the boy who is called "emo" is contemplating suicide and takes that one step that hurts everyone around him.
When the guy from your math class is called "wimp" because he has marks from his abusive father .

When the girl called "fat" is diagnosed as a bulimic because she wants to be pretty, for you.
When the prettiest girl is called "ugly" and tries to make herself prettier, for you.
When that boy, the one sitting right next to you, is called "worthless" because he's different, but isn't himself anymore, for you.
When the boy who's mother is dying, is crying and praying for a miracle is called a "religious freak", and gives up to please, you.
Everyone being labeled.
With a word that sticks like wet clothes, clinging onto us.
Holding us tight and making us uncomfortable in our own skin.
They all change themselves for you, for your approval, for your attention, for your words to become pleasant.
But your words stick.

That girl you called "weird" and "goth" is now battling with herself.
She smiles at you and everyone else but that is a wall.
She can't help but look in the mirror and see a freak because of your words.
She sees someone foreign looking back, with a weird haircut, with a unbelievably large stomach, scratches cover her arms and her stomach.
What she doesn't see is that her hair is actually quite nice, her stomach skinny, but her arms are still scarred.
She still was hurt from your words.
They built up her wall and one day her wall became to high and toppled over and she snapped.
Her arms became paper.
Her eyes became a constant flood.
Her mouth became a beacon for screams and cries.
Her heart became the only thing that hurt anymore.
She became so fragile, but no one noticed.
No one ever notices.
She's me.

When the labels become to much, depression steals us away.
Convincing us that no one is there, that a blade to our skin is better then someone holding us.
That the scale is our enemy and starving ourselves is the greatest weapon.
That the word "love" is like a book without words and the word "stop" is like a draft of energy to poise us deeper into a state of mind that cannot fathom anything.
That life isn't worth living, that death is the solution to all our problems.

Well I'll be damned if I end without a fight.
Even if it's against myself.