Being Human.

The thing that makes us human is what I hate most about being human. 

We feel:

We feel pain.

We feel suffering.

We feel sadness. 

We feel lose. 

Even the good feelings we have cannot counter the bad. 

The feelings of hope and joy. 

They can't take away the pain we feel because of love and lust. 

They can't take away the heartbreak we feel. 

Nothing can take away the stabbing sensation you get from depression or the emptiness inside you feel when you realize you'd rather die. 

I hate being human because humans have to live life full of tragic pain. 

(Written August 25th, 2014 at 7:21 pm)

That's What They All Say

"You're just a naive child." 

     You know that's what they all say.

"You're being young and dumb." 

     Does that really change the pain? 

"You're being so dramatic." 

               I wish it was really that way.

"You're just looking for attention."

                     When will this go away?

"Stop being foolish."

                     Stop breathing now and                        

                       everything will change. 

(Written on August 11th, 2014 at 8:26 pm) 

Untitled.

There's a feeling you get when you fall in love for real the very first time. It's sickening how lovely it feels. 

That shakey feeling each time you touch your love. When your lips meet the first time, like two strands of ivy finally growing together, you feel indestructible. You keep falling harder and your love turns into a passion. It sparks like lightning hitting a tree and in that moment you know you're in love. You, a rose with your lover a cage of thorns around you. You can't escape the passion, the love, the hate, the trouble. You're surrounded by a cloud of lust that you'll never break free from. Not until you're content with your prison. 

(Written July 24th, 2014 at 11:05 p.m.) 

This Boy

This Boy you see has a hold on me.
This Boy you see stole my heart from me.
This Boy you see controls my being.
This Boy is my everything, but I feel like his nothing.


He knows what he does to me.
He knows how I need him.


I know how he craves me.
I know how terribly I want to be with him.


He is my drug and I am his.
Forever addicted to the fire that's within us.
We're connected on some internal level,
never able to leave each other,
no matter the pain in question.


This Boy is my addiction.
This Boy is my torture.
This Boy is my lover.
This Boy is my forever.


(Written on July 6th, 2014 at 11:45 pm)

My Drug

There's a drug,

That I'm addicted too. 

You don't shoot this drug. 

You don't inhale this drug. 

You don't smoke this drug. 

You don't drink this drug. 

This drug is in a different form.

It takes shape in words,

It takes shape in actions,

It takes shape in promises. 

It's the moment those words mean nothing, the actions aren't there, and the promises are broken that you realize how addicted you are to this drug. 

It's time for me to cut myself off from this drug that's locked it's claws around me. 

Even if it kills me, I am better off without this drug. 

So I sit here and wait for the tears to pass, the shaking frustration to be over, and my life to continue on without withdrawals from you. 

Because you are my drug. 

(Written on July 2nd, 2014 at 8:55 pm))

Perfect Girls

People say that perfect girls only exist in movies, but that's not true is it? 

I look around and I see girls with perfect bodies. Perfect clothes. Perfect faces. Perfect hair. Perfect make up. Perfect cars. Perfect home lives. Perfect houses. Perfect grades. Perfect relationships. They are seamlessly perfect. 

So why can't I be perfect?

I'm ashamed to post a picture in a bikini. I'm ashamed to post any unfiltered pictures because of my face. I have more relationship problems than Romeo and Juliet. I'm barely happy. I can never tell when someone in my family is going to break and start a screaming match. I'll never be comfortable wearing what I want. I'll never have a decent car. I'll never have the grades I need. 

I am the opposite of perfect. 

So I ask God why? Why can't I be like these other girls? The problem is He never answers me. He shuts me out. Doesn't listen to me. I'm not even good enough for God so why would I ever be good enough for anyone else? 

 

(Written on June 30th, 2014 at 7:45 pm)

Tortured

I will never understand why people torture themselves. 

They reread old, love letters.

Look at old, happy photos.

Watch old, joyful films. 

Remember old, grace-filled times. 

Many humans believe they are holding on to these because of the memory which such items bring.

But I'm smarter than them. 

I know they hold on to the past to use as torture. 

Torture is the only word to use. 

They relive the good moments that they will never have again. 

They replay the bad times that constantly repeat. 

Torture is the only word to use. 

They break themselves down. 

They kill themselves on the inside. 

They will never be able to be happy because they are torturing themselves with darkness and hatred. 

I torture myself with the person I used to be.

Written June 30th, 2014 at 11:02 p.m.

Miss.

I miss a lot of people,
But a lot of people don't miss me.
It's incredible to think this is how my life shall be.


You love someone wholly,
They seem to love you true,
Then leave so suddenly
Making a fool out of you.


Someday I will learn
To give up earlier
So that I don't miss anyone
And then everyone
Will miss me.


(Written on June 29th, 2014 at 10:40 am)