perfection
¨Staring at myself through shards of broken glass. The girl staring back with the lonely eyes doesn't look like me. I long for the moments when I could appreciate someone complimenting me, when I could go without comparing myself to other girls. I had taken that contentment for granted. I couldn't tell you what changed. Suddenly I was too fat, suddenly I was just an ugly girl blending into the crowd. People still called me beautiful, beautiful is great but beautiful isn't perfect. Instagram filled my head with pictures of what I thought perfection should be. A habit grew to an obsession and I couldn't handle it. My brain was jumbled by ways to make myself perfect. But what is perfect? Who is sitting at a table making the boundaries and the standards for perfection and beauty? I wish somebody would have told me that perfection is only being content with yourself. But those are just words, and would I have believed them?¨
time
Clocks ticking
Pens clicking
Typing away on laptops
Yawns due to sleep deprivation
Sighs in frustration
Foot taps as if to hurry up time
The group of whispers in the corner
And you,
The music too loud in your ears
Just trying to drown out the thoughts that threaten to swallow you
Sitting here in this classroom
You stare out the window and wonder what's beyond the hills
What's over the horizon
Thereś so much more than you could imagine, but thatś not what scares you
What scares you is you might be stuck here your whole life
The clock keeps on ticking reminding you that life doesn't last forever
Hold your breath
Some people call me funny
Others prefer the term incoherent
I´d agree with both
I don´t think my parents determined the stress I would cause
A mistake unjustifiable ..
I hurt everyone because I can't commit
I pull and pull but then push away
Too scared to let them too close
They might see the demons that haunt me
Everywhere I go, forests go up in flames
Everything's kind of closing in
Like a box too small
Hold your breath; don´t breathe
It´ll kill you quicker
Manipulation
He had a beautiful sense of adventure and a wonderful laugh,
He kissed her and all she could think was,
"I'm screwed."
No one told her of the horror to come.
No one told her that the most heinous objects come in the most alluring packaging.
And what, my dear, shall I write then?
When my mind can no longer produce words, and when my tongue ceases to move?
Only of the memories that are far behind.