Going Through Crap Again~I didn't just wanna write it like that so, I wrote a poem.
You may say I'm young,
You may say I don't understand,
But I do.
Every morning I wake up,
And question myself,
"Why do I go through this pain?
Why am I constantly afraid of being judged?
Why am I never good enough?
Why did my grandmother have to die?
Why are most of my family members bound to cancer, weakness and death?
Why do I not believe in myself?
Why do I cry myself to sleep?"
I don't answer them. I simply question.
I examine the other girls,
Wondering why I can't be like that,
Why I have to be me,
Why I have to look like...this,
Why I never learn and always forget,
Why I'm always picked last, and always talked about,
In the bad way.
I look at my hair, I want to pull it.
I look at my pimples, I want to scoop them out.
I look at my eyes, a dark dirty brown.
I want to color them, a light green emerald.
I look at my legs, and wish they were someone else's.
I look at my nose, and wish for a smaller, delicate one.
I look at my nails, bloody, short and rigged,
From the biting I have done.
I look at my braces. Where would those gardening scissors be?
And then I stop.
I think of everyone else, in Africa, India, China, and other places,
Where the little children raise their open filthy palms,
Like tiny daggers up to heaven,
The women who have been raped,
The families with almost nothing anymore,
The ones with nobody with them,
The ones who have lost a loved one,
The ones who fought and gained nothing.
I know I should be thankful,
I am thankful,
I can't help it.
Feelings are like fireworks, they explode.
You can't hide feelings, or fireworks,
I just can't help but feel never good enough,
Never pretty enough,
Never smart enough,
Never witty, smart, funny, popular enough.
I don't own a padded bra,
I don't own high heels,
I don't have a boyfriend.
I don't wan't these things,
I just want to be seen as somebody,
not a nobody.
i don't want to be a foggy mirage,
but then again...
this is how I disappear...
thanks for reading