Whether I'm worried about something or not this pharse does not help. If I'm worried and am verbally expressing my worry and this is said to me. I immediately shut up. Just saying "don't worry" will not ease my mind in any way. It basically tells me you don't want to hear or deal with my worries. It would help if one would listen to my concerns or list reasons I shouldn't be worried. This phrase is also helpful when trying to make me worried. If I'm told to not worry I then become concerned with why I should be worried, once again sinking my confidence level. So basically do NOT say, "Don't worry."

Now I'm normally a quiet person, but I will stay quiet no longer. This world is flawed and that's okay, but that is not an excuse to not try. To not try to learn and to understand. To not try to open your mind to new possibilities. To not try to think about someone other than yourself. To not try to take responsibility for your actions. You must remember that opinions are different and that's okay but your opinion can hurt others. Your opinion or harsh words could end a life or start a war. Be mindful of what you say and of what you do. We are all flawed, we all make mistakes, but by trying we are all beautiful.

Trista was beautiful but she didn't see it. Her skin was pale like moonlight and her ebony hair cascaded from her head in large curls. Her most defining feature was her eyes, they were an ocean of dark blue with a ring of ice around the pupil. Her sense of style consisted of black clothes and no makeup since she accepted nothing could improve her looks and make her even close to decent looking. She had no friends or family. She had been an orphan since birth and had been all alone since her best friend, Hope, had been beaten to death by her boyfriend. Even before Hope's death she kept to herself but now that Hope was gone that trait was even more prominent. Trista worked at a local library, arranging books and listening to music with her earbuds so no one would talk to her. The money she got from working she would spend on alcohol and the blades she used to decorate her arms. She was a silent crier, not that anyone would know. They didn't even find her body until the neighbors started to smell something. Poor Trista had been starved, drunk, dehydrated, and had been bleeding from her wrists when the landlord finally came to check on her. She had no funeral and was put in the ground almost immediately. No really noticed her abscence, not her neighbors, not the librarian, not even the guy at the gas sation from whom she bought all her things. Trista was just gone and she perfered it that way. From her perspective no one would have to put up with her anymore and she wouldn't inflict any of the same pain others did onto her.

You think everything is alright,

But you don't see the battle I fight,

I go to war everday,

With the demon that never goes away,

My enemy is the most terrible foe,

One who many know,

I see the beast all the time,

Well, maybe not all the time,

But it is always with me,

I can't even lock myself away with a key,

Because it would still follow me,

I attack the creature with a blade,

Yet I eventually always come to its aid,

I never let it fade,

Maybe that makes me a coward,

Only a coward wouldn't be able to kill themselves.