Until I am goneThey see me staring into the air
What a freak!
I can't say that I care,
For I see a world in that air
And my imagination makes me feel complete.
I'm fine with them judging me
Quietly behind my back;
Ready to pull out a knife to stab it with.
Their opinions don't matter to me
As long as I can find the key
To a three dimensional world of contentment.
I've collected a few over the years
Who may or may not
See what I see.
But with them I have no fears.
They have never brought me to tears
And allow me to be me.
They're all that I could ask for
Even if they don't wear chic and stylish
Clothes of glamour and fame.
They give me what I ask for
And I know if, lonely, I came knocking on their door,
They'd let me in, and I know I'd do the same.
I live in happiness
With what I have
And I want nothing to do with anything else.
In my cozy, quiet, lonely
But busy, clean but messy, full and brimming
Of Fairy Tales and Broken DreamsTo be quite frank...
I'm sick and tired of fairy tales.
I'm sick of 'Once upon a time's
And living 'happily ever after'.
I'm tired of lazy princesses
Who wait for and allow their princes to do all the work
And I'm sick of princes
Who do everything for their princesses.
I'm sick of little girls
Being brought up to think that nothing bad ever happens
And tired of them being told that one day
Their knights in shining armour will show up and sweep them off their feet;
That there has never been
A failed or abusive or forced relationship.
One day they'll all grow up
And realize that they're not princesses
And they'll have to learn
That their boyfriend or fiance or husband can't do everything.
They'll be taught
That outside their cozy little home is a cold, harsh reality.
And in the end, it probably would've been better
If they'd never dreamed of a
Crossing the LineI, naturally, don't want them to worry about me.
I over-think things, and that tends to make me sad.
I know they may begin to worry if they see me
Always with a frown on my face;
Not that it's much different from now.
So, every once in a while,
I'll fake a smile.
I'll laugh when I'm supposed to
So that they won't get suspicious,
And say something that I think makes sense.
I'll tell them I'm fine,
Even when I can't tell if I'm fine or not.
I think I'm fine;
I just think a little differently from other people.
I know for sure I'm not depressed.
But everyone knows that you're crossing the line
When even you can't tell whether your smile
Voodoo Like I DoI'm sick of it;
The way they treat me.
Am I nothing more than a voodoo doll?
Something to stick pins in
And laugh at?
Is that all?
I must not be a person;
They never seem to treat me like one.
Am I just a joke?
Nothing to be treated seriously,
To cheer someone up then be ignored.
I'm tired of putting up with it;
I should be treated like a human.
Or am I not that, either?
Am I not the same as you?
Flesh and blood and bones?
I don't let it bother me anymore;
They're simply not worth it.
I won't let them treat me like a voodoo doll
It's Nice To Meet YouHey.
My name is unimportant.
You don't know me, and you probably don't want to.
By now, you probably think I'm annoying.
I wouldn't blame you; most people do.
If you're still reading this, I'll let you know something.
I’m insecure about everything about myself.
Even if I don’t know you, I care, and please; don’t feel like me.
UglyLooking in the mirror,
She wants to cry.
No matter how many ways she turns her head,
Or how tight she squints her eyes;
All she can see are imperfections.
She tells her friends how she feels,
But they just laugh it off.
She feels like they're laughing at her;
Feels like they can't argue.
All she is to herself is a nobody.
She doesn't bother bringing her problems up anymore.
She knows no one will help.
She forces a smile on her face;
Fakes a laugh so her friends think she's fine.
Inside, her happiness is rotting like wood.
She wishes that someone would compliment her,
Tell her she's beautiful.
Even if somebody did,
She knows she'll turn away.
She wouldn't believe them.
She stands in front of the mirror,
And wants her reflection to disappear.
She smashes the glass,
Then looks at her bleeding fist.
She finally cries and sinks to the tile floor, and wonders;
'Why can't I be beautiful?'
Losing ItThey’re in my head.
They creep through my every thought,
Stealing what once was mine.
They tell me to do things,
Things I know I shouldn't do.
They start wars from within me.
I fight my side of the battle, and grow weaker and weaker.
Soon my forces will crumble
And I’ll begin to lose.
They’ll invade my body and steal it from me.
I won’t have any control.
I can feel it now
As I sit here, typing out my misery.
I can feel my walls beginning to break
And my grip on sanity weakening.
For once in my life, I don’t know what to do.
Why?Sometimes I can't help but wonder-
Why am I here?
Realizations crash into me like waves;
All I ever seem to do is cause trouble,
Get in the way,
Ruin all I touch.
Nobody really seems to care;
Sometimes, even though I'll never admit it,
All I want is a hug or something.
Some form of acknowledgement.
Maybe that's why I'm how I am?
Maybe I do this for some deeper meaning,
And act as an attention whore.
But I don't care to think too deep into it.
Sometimes, I just don't care.
I want to cry.
But I don't let myself;
Because if I'm going to be nothing but a pest,
I'm going to be a strong pest,
And I won't let anything crack my mask.