I am a weed

intrusive, annoying

destroying the pretty green grass

killing the long twisting vines

yet an innocent child

still would point

melodically shouting

"look a flower!"

I don't feel like a flower

sure, I bloom

but I'm not pretty

I don't get put in vases

nobody gives me water

or wants me to grow

they cut me down

and drown me with weedkiller...

perfectionism is a disease without a cure.

I am sick in a way doctors can't see,

left longing to fix every crack in the mirror,

every flaw that lay against my skin

my mind is a poison that has no antidote,

self-destructive and cruel

stealing away the hunger in my stomach

and distorting the view of my reflection.

my life is a torture with no escape

grasping at unattainable happiness

forced to be...

seasons change

but i do not

i'm left as the same broken shell

crying

until my room is filled

and i'm forced to suck the water

into my lungs

drowning

with no escape

unable to reach the surface

i thrash and beg

dying...

id love to dance in the rain with you

til were soaked straight to bone

hand in hand, bodies entwined

cause your skin feels like home

and when the rain stops pouring,

we'll shiver and we'll laugh

when we look up our eyes would meet

as we stand in the wet grass

the moon would peek out from behind clouds

its light reflecting in your eyes

we'll stay and watch the stars appear

long after our clothes ...

the trees scream silently as they're burned

chopped down without regret

water wasted to answer questions

what animal goes extinct next?

the land is dying and so are the people

who kill it without remorse

as the air grows thinner and food becomes scarce

they'll say 'natures just running its course'

the trees still scream though no one hears them

as green starts to fade from their leaves

as water ...

i am an addict.

not to pills, or cigarettes,

but to feeling miserable.

it's easier to sink than to stay afloat,

to let the sadness wash over me in waves,

keeping me company when i'm lonely.

its easier to isolate myself than to open up,

to bottle everything up inside myself

until the dam breaks and my tears flow.

it's easier to write when i'm in pain,

to let my soul bleed like ink onto paper

wh...

I cling onto the idea of someone harder than I cling to the actual person.

Please don't leave me.

I've put you on too high of a pedestal, I don't want to watch you fall.

Obsess, Overthink, Cry, Repeat.

I am not my own person.

I'm you. I'm my friends. I'm everyone around me.

If you leave, I'm stuck with reminders of you in how I act.

I'll change. I'll be what you want me to be.

I can be wh...

I am made entirely of flaws, stitched together by good intentions; Although the stitches begin to fray, and my flaws bleed through my skin.

I am like a star, destined to burn out. How much time will it take until you notice? Will I burn out long before you are able to see?

I am a language lost to time; unable to be deciphered. Nobody to understand.

It's lonely to not be understood. I speak and ...

I held her hand tight, and I wasn't ever letting go. Because letting go meant moving on, and I wasn't ready for that.

If her hand never left mine, I could pretend it was an early saturday morning, waking up to her lips against my chest.

I could pretend to smell bacon cooking in the kitchen, my arms around her waist as she cooked.

Letting go meant forgetting how she tasted on my tongue, the hone...

I bite the hands that feeds me so that maybe it'll let me starve.

Despite the bones that form a cage around my heart, it still claws it's way out of my body, begging for someone to see it.

I fortify the walls; my heart beats slower.

It's rhythmic thumps grow weary.

If nobody is there to hear it beat, why can't it just be still?

The hand no longer feeds me, yet the growl of my stomach provides...