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"Absolutely Nothing"She said she wanted to be a writer
Because that’s what made her happy
But the other kids ridiculed her
For having such strange ideas
So she decided to lock her ideas away for a while
Lock away the princes and princesses
The fairies and far away kingdoms
So she could grow up a little
And then maybe they’d accept her
Because that’s all she really wanted.
She said she wanted to be a writer
Because it helped take away the pain
Growing up wasn’t what she expected
And it ripped down her defenses
Before she even had a chance to fight back
And so she left her old ideas where they were
And wrote about death instead
About abuse and rape and torture
To make her pain feel insignificant
Because that’s all she really wanted.
She said she wanted to be a writer
Because it would be the last thing she’d ever do
Though the sleeping pills made it hard to concentrate
And the tears blurred her vision
And smudged the ink of her pen
She needed to say goodbye before sh
Sticks and Stones May Break My BonesIf there was one thing she hated most, it was her inability to write what she really wanted. It didn’t matter what brilliant idea filtered through her mind, and it certainly didn’t matter if she had the time or energy. The simple fact was that there was something standing in between her and the one thing she loved most.
It was the fear of failing.
She knew it was the one thing that could make or break her. Everything she lived for was just a small collection of ideas and words and ink blots and moments of pure bliss and moments of heart shattering sorrow and above all it was everything she could never be. She could never be the hero of her story. She could never save a kingdom from a warring enemy. She could never be the bad girl who couldn’t care less about other’s opinions and slept around with who she damn well pleased. She could never be the intelligent beauty that got the person she loved in the end. She could never truly be happy w
Hunger Games Preview: VolumniaMy name is Volumnia Nightrail. I am the female District 1 Tribute in the 45th Hunger Games. I am fifteen years old, and I came here to die.
Volumnia Nightrail was raised as one of the best in District 1. With a powerful father and a mother with a direct link to the Capitol, everyone had assumed she would take her place as the District Tribute when she turned eighteen. They expected her to win. But when things take a dangerous turn at District 1’s reaping, Volumnia finds herself thrown into the Games at only fifteen.
“Volumnia Nightrail!” The Capitol representative called, sending the female side into a frenzy.
“I volunteer!” The older girls screamed around me, but I could hardly hear them over the pounding of my own heart. I had a decision: do as I was instructed, and let the spot go to someone who wasn’t me. Someone who was more capable. OR I could hold my head high, and step up there. I could go against everything I ha
Letter From an OC: Annoying Yet LovableDear Creator,
Hey kid, it’s me, Robert. Ya know, your Conscious? I’m sure you couldn’t forget me, considering that I’m like Jiminy freakin’ Cricket except for the fact that I’m human and extremely good looking. Heh, I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, but I think it’s about time you actually listened to me for once. You’re supposed to follow my advice, you know. I’m your Conscious, it’s what I do.
Anyway, enough with my fantastic sense of humor, let’s move on to why I’m really writing you this letter. I know you’ve been having a bit of a rough time lately, and you know what? It happens to everyone. Everyone has those dark days where they have a hard time figuring out what they truly want out of life and even out of themselves. And trust me, kiddo, I know how hard it is for you sometimes. I know it’s hard to have faith in yourself when everythi
Society Says So I don’t fit the stereotypes. I don’t think I ever have.
And maybe that’s why they don’t believe me. Maybe that’s why they don’t believe I’m that girl. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a different hair color each week. Maybe it’s because I don’t listen to screamo music and wear gobs of make up on my face. Maybe it’s because I actually care about my grades, and manage to maintain a 4.5 GPA.
Maybe it’s because I don’t have scars on my wrists or cuts on my legs to so "proudly" display like half of these girls do. Just because I don’t harm myself physically doesn’t mean I don’t mentally. Just because I haven't mutilated my skin doesn’t mean I’m not in pain. I have different methods to hurt myself. I don't do drugs, I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't do anything of the sort. I have a different way of dealing with the pain. So here’s the truth.
As The Poison Sets In“Pick your poison”
They sing to me with their
Siren voices and their
“Pick your poison”
Growing impatient with my
Lack of words
“Pick my poison”
I echo, my voice
weak and hollow
“How can I pick if I
Don’t know my
“War” they murmur
“War?” I laugh,
“War is the poison
That will stop my heart
In its tracks
But leave the organ pounding
War is the poison
That will feed on my inner most desires
On my greed and my
Thirst for power
And forbid me from the
Peaceful embrace of sleep
As nightmares of splattered blood
And fallen soldiers will
Shatter my sanity and force me into
A broken hysteria as
I watch my mind collapse into nothing.
Tell me my other choices, because
So far, you have yet to
Contain my interest.”
“Death” they mutter
“Death?” I stifle another laugh
“Death is the poison
That will steal away those that I
Child-Like GamesMy demons are
Playing games with me
And not the
Kid games that I
Can remember loving
But the dark ones that
Only they find fun
And the ones that are
Ripping me to pieces
Destroying any chance I
Have at being happy
Or anything but
Teetering on the edge of
And god I can't wait for the day
Until they finally
Push me over.
Because I'd rather
Suffer through that then
Just be a pawn in their
There's Strength In MadnessIf it’s victory you’re bargaining for it’s
Misery that you’re
Going to get
Because you see, my darling
I’ve never been one to
go down so easily.
And if it's sanity you think you're
so valiantly fighting for
you're in for quite a surprise
when you realize that
this fool-hearted dream of yours
will be destroyed by your own Reality.
And i think it's so cute that you believe
that you have me all figured out
but really, truly
you've been mistaken, as
Sanity means nothing to me
when Madness is where i truly belong.
If Madness is where you belong, then truly
you must be a
lost cause already,
but don't you worry about a thing, my dear
as Reality promises that she'll
fix every shattered crack in your broken demeanor.
Ha! I don't need your pathetic promises or useless lies,
because I have a heart that's
so much stronger than it's
ever been before, and trust me
There Are Monsters Inside of MeMy name is Brianna
There's a monster inside of me.
He like to tell me I'm fat
That I'm ugly, unworthy
of living the life that I have
I'm not beautiful enough
not pretty enough
not talented enough
not smart enough
to be loved.
He likes to watch me suffer;
watch me drown in my misery
suffocate in my anxiety
more than anything
he likes to make me hate myself.
He likes to tell me that
people are watching me
and judging me
"You're annoying, stop talking."
"Don't speak up, you'll regret it."
"You're an idiot."
"a stupid dreamer."
He reminds me that I want to be
everything that i could never
"I'll never make it in this life" I agree,
and he smiles at me, it's sick
"You finally believe the truth."
My name is Brianna
There's a monster inside of me.
She likes to tell me to stop trying
to give up on life
to give up on my friends
"Who wants a fuck up
She agrees with Him a lot
and tells me to stop eating
because I'd be beautiful if i were just
pale skin st
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
I Thought I Needed FeminismI thought I needed feminism, when I was a little girl.
And I am very sad to admit, that this wasn't very long ago.
I thought when he held the door open for me, that he was making a big mistake.
That he was being a pompous ass, and he took my strength for a fake.
And when he offered to pay my tab, I still called him an ass.
Because I thought he assumed I was poor, and below middle class.
Or when his hard work earned him a promotion,
yet I did nothing, and the boss' ignorance to promote me, I believed was a sexist notion.
My friend really wanted feminism when she found her ex-dead drunk,
removed his clothes, and without his consent, had a pleasurable fuck.
When her parents bust into the room unexpected that night,
she said he raped her, and he was arrested without so much as a fight.
Perhaps feminism was there when I walked out into the street in pure nudity,
and shouted the my neighbors “You have no right to judge me!”
I didn't care about the children who were standing in th
These Faded KeysOf all the keys I click
As we speak each day,
It's the back arrow
That's faded most
These white letters
Would surely tell you,
I reply to everything -
But the key reading "enter"
Will be the one to explain
Why it still looks new
I want you to know
Just how much I care,
But I don't want to be close
Out of the fear of losing you
But please remember:
I dedicate these words to you,
Sharing them to the world
Rather than clicking away
At the faded key ~
Echoes we are like
in the middle
but not quite
what we truly
Tonight, I finished a roll of toilet paper
that I had started
a month, 8 days,
two hours, and 21 minutes ago.
Its genesis, June 11th,
one of the worst nights of my life,
I took a roll from my small bathroom,
and silently tucked it under my arm.
I couldn't let my girls know.
They couldn't know
I was going to use this as my broom.
They couldn't know
that I swept my shattered heart
under my bed.
And I wept.
My pillow taking my abuse,
my suffocation and my attacks.
My fingers squeezing it for dear life
and my knuckles as I punched it,
imagining it was her.
Then hugging it.
I only cried that hard
when I was about 6.
She was gone.
And so was I.
I cried every night
which would've marked
our 7-month anniversary.
And in the late days of that month,
I lied to myself.
And for that,
I regret every moment.
I wasn't ready.
At least I stopped it,
before we drowned each other
like the last woman.
Two weeks lat
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
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