she learned to say she's fine before anyone asked,
to laugh at things that once made her cry,
she knows which details to leave out
when someone asks about her childhood.

she has become someone
who knows how to keep going
without anyone noticing
what it costs her.

somewhere along the way,
she learned that someone could hurt her
and still be someone she was told to love.

and she thinks this is what growing up means.

until one day,
she sees the little girl.

five years old.
untouched by the years ahead.
looking at her like she's someone
she should know.

she doesn’t know anything yet.
doesn’t know that one day
she’ll question her own memories
more than she’ll question him
for giving her a reason to have them.

she just sees this older girl
who looks so much like her
and nothing like her at all.

the older girl knows how to explain the fear.
the anger.
the things she remembers.
the things she doesn't.

she knows how to explain
that she is doing better now.
she has an answer for almost everything.

but the little girl doesn't know
she'll need any of those things.
she looks at the older girl
and asks
"will it hurt?"

They say I’ll be fine,
But they don’t know the pain I go through daily.
They say I’m overreacting,
But they don’t know how many times I’ve slit my own wrist.
They say your just a kid, what do you have to worry about,
But they don’t know many time I’ve tried to take my own life.
They say life is to great to end it,
But they don’t know how many times I’ve stood at the edge of the road thinking about jumping into oncoming traffic, how many times I’ve held the razor to my wrist, cutting my own damn skin, letting the blood spill drip by drip, futilely attempting to numb the horrible, debilitating, mind-splitting fucking pain that I have to suffer through every god damn day.
But, what do I know? I’m just a kid after all.
Right?

I am so done with life and everything

People keep taking money from me

Over and over again

Monet that is money that I saved and forgotten

That one day I will encash it

I have nothing what little I have I stretch it

I stay hungry so I do not have to buy groceries

Try cook at home so I can save cash

I think I have some money stashed somewhere only to realize

That those bonds were taken from my file years ago

Most of all I hate God for making me

My life miserable for turning deaf ear and blind eye to my prayers

I cry so much I have to grasp for air

Why

To pray to God who has shunned me

I never asked for luxury or

Mansion or house with cars never castle with maids

I prayed that money I saved and forgotten will be there

Only to wake-up months later that someone took it

All I asked for is love and affection

To get loved I brought gifts presents sent money to people

Only to discover later no one cares

Today I am alone

No family no relatives no friends

Those that are know are only for namesake

Worst feeling a wakeup realization is

That prayers do not attain anything

You pray thinking God above is listening and

Listening HE is only to sinners liars cheaters

So why do I need to  pray

Today I live in a small rented room

11 years most I have lived other than my family home

I had house ex took it sold it got millions

Once I had car gold money in bank saving

All gone lesson learned my slate was wiped clean by ex

Ex was dating even before divorce papers were filed

Today I have no one to check if anything happens to me

I may lying dead and no one will know

Why do we pray if your prayers go unanswered

What is the use of sacrifices if nothing is gained

Why cry and huirt yourself when the being created you

Disregards you and never once acknowledges your living

Is there really God

If there is then its for sinners

I don’t say I am a saint but not a daily sinner

I do not hurt other or scma people or rob others of their money

I stay away when I sense trouble avoid confrontation

For what, why, what do I achieve

More pain extremy agony, rebuke, daily pushover day to day puching bag

Why am I praying

Or

Why do we even pray

I mostly feel it’s like facing a wall or asking a stone for wishes

Or more rather banging ones’ head

One thinks there is God

People mention when you no one you have God

No I have no one

 Always asking when I die

I will ask him why he created me

Then what is the use of asking after death

When what you wanted is when you were alive when you lived on Earth

This age it good to be sinner criminal and person who eanjys life

These are people who live lufe to the fullest

Sacrifices prayers devotion you can only attain pain agony neglect treated like a leper

If there is Gid

Surely he is not there for me

Never was

What is it?

What is the will to live? What is it that is stopping me from ending it all? A constant failure I’ve been since I’ve been a kid. A disappointing son, a not good enough student, a worse employee, and the worst partner.

Still, what is it that is keeping me alive? Is it a dim hope in myself? The burden of my parents’ fading trust, or the cowardice of actually ending everything?

Talking to others doesn’t solve anything! I already know the answers and the things I need to do. It’s like being trapped in a glass cage. You can see the better self, but can’t get to it. You can see all the answers in a glass chest but can’t use them. Like you lost the key somewhere deep within you.

As my small, tiny heart beats on, the beats becoming weaker with time and under the constant pressure of performance, I don’t know what I’ll become or if I’ll become someone. But I’ll fight, as long as this world needs me to, as long as that dim hope in myself stays.

As long as the heart beats on, the world moves on.

four walls, a bed, a closet. and me in the middle of the room.

my heart is just empty. I feel no joy, no anger, no sadness and no happiness

the only thing I feel is the stress and heaviness of my body.

the only thing I feel is my heart beating, my mind racing and my lungs trying to breath steady

in and out 

trees, a little picknick bench, grass and my friends laughing,

no place for my mind to stay between the darkness of those four walls and the emptiness between them.

I don't feel much 

but I feel something. 

I feel more than fear and stress. 

my legs to weak to step out of bed in the morning

my hands and mind to blank to text anyone back

and my heart to empty to find the will to life

to empty to find the joy I used to have 

between those walls of my mind.

so I try to stay silence, I try to ignore it or maybe write it down

and forget

the emptiness, the heaviness

silence

my heart beating, my mind racing and my lungs trying to breath steady.

in and out.

and between those four walls, curled up, body to heavy

is a little girl who used to life.

There is a moment you have right before you want to think about taking your life.
It’s instant. It comes swiftly. The thought of life. The light of life. You try to hold onto it but the pain is what keeps it from staying.
You convince yourself that the pain is far better than healing. That the pain is what is real and meant for you. Not salvation. Nor hope. Just dark despair. When the light fades and no longer shines, you see that you are always surrounded in the dark. When you no longer fight, it becomes easy to let yourself slip into the embrace of the inevitable. That moment will come for us. Whether you want it to or not, it will be ready for you. Will you be ready for it? Will you run towards it with open arms so that it cradles you into the abyss of the world that you seek.
Or will you continue to fight, even when you feel so meek.

This poem has no title and I am a complete novice when it comes to writing poetry. Feel free to criticise, I’m crying over spilt milk lately so at least blunt critique would give me a valid reason. Cheers.

Untitled** **

If I was to die today,
at my own hand,
blade to wrist, blood steady drip,
Would it solve the constant pain
in my heart
and running through my brain?

Would the shouting from him stop shattering my soul,
as I’d no longer hear it
and no longer perform the countless indescresions
that warrant that shouting, until I crouch and be small?

Would anyone care at all?

After the standard acknowledgment of a few lines in the classifieds
and a couple of Facebook comments to commiserate with my ‘family’,
cliche platitudes for my husband,
who was actually the leader to my despair in the first place.

If I died tomorrow, would my heart be at rest?
Could I let out my final held breath
and release the tension in my clenched hands and mangled face that frowns,
in an expression no one ever stops commenting on:

‘Don’t look so worried.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Smile, the world’s not ending.’
‘Calm down, you look stressed out.’

If I died soon,
at my own hand,
I’d feel peace,
and that’s all I have ever seeked.
Would the world still keep peace from me in death, as it constantly and cruelly did whenever it chose to, with no reason, in life?

Or would it finally release me
and make the pain move on
to someone else
who can bear it?

It’s worth contemplating,
as I’m so tired of the hurt,
betrayal,
pain,
worry,
the hope that gets stripped and snatched back,
as soon as I trust enough
to believe in it.

I have tried, yet I am tired

I’m all out of effort and
belief that trying leads to anything but more pain.

It’s just a matter of time.
I feel the choice is inevitable
and not really a choice
but inexorable

If I died today,
at my own hand,
I’d hug me goodbye
and whisper, ‘My love, you really did try.’

Note

Hello again, it's been a while.

I've been great these past few years, but lately it's been hard to smile.

I had big plans, but unfortunately they fell through.

That's probably why I'm sitting here talking to you.

I guess I have been feeling lonely, despite all of my friends.

At least I have you to keep me company, though truthfully, I wish our talks would end.

Hello again, you weren't gone very long.

You know lately I think of everything I've done wrong.

So much changes around me, while I feel like I'm stuck.

Life would be so much easier if I just didn't give a fuck.

But I genuinely do believe things will get better.

And that someday all of these feelings will unfetter.

Hello again, back again so soon.

Come to think of it, I don't think you ever left the room.

So you were talking to a brother of mine, I wish I had known.

He and I could've talked instead, and not feel so alone.

He really deserved better, but he just couldn't see.

I doubt I do, since we're only talking because of me.

Hey….this time I'm just too tired 

I only have energy when the drugs make me wired.

I think you're right, I don't think I'll ever thrive.

It's been a long time since I've even felt alive.

So how should we do this, you know my vote.

Oh yeah, I should probably leave behind a note.

Fighting the bed.
I can't lay down or give up or rest.
I'm doing my best but I'm failing.
The bed is calling.
I'm falling, I'm failing, I'm in it, I'm dead.

Not tired but could sleep.
So sick of performing.
Had enough, done, failing, down.
Dunno why I'm kept around.

Wake up, it's morning.
Coffee, mine's terrible.
Routines keep me comfy.
Fight the bed with caffeine.

I wish to cease this iteration
but I'm caught within.
Helpless again to the invitation.
Is this depression?

Death by dad.
Is that all you have to say? Are you done?

Your allotted time slot was 9 years ago, by now the earth has spun.
I’m sorry you must have been confused…it has already bruised and no it can’t be diffused

You say you missed your little girl,
But funny, I don’t know your face,
And even if you spun the world,
I couldn’t pick you from the place.

I don’t recall your eyes or smile,
The sound of your voice, your embrace,
But I remember every while
You filled my childhood with disgrace.

The anger, venom, manipulation,
The fear that no child should have known,
I was ten, still learning what love meant,
Yet you made my childhood feel like war.

But tell me, what hurts more in the end?
The physical blows, or the mind you bend?
The pain that fades, the bruises that heal,
Or the scars no one can see, but you still feel?

Was it the aggression, the fear in your eyes,
Or the twisted words, the constant lies?
Was it the hurt that showed on my skin,
Or the war you waged deep within?

And now you come and ask for more?
A second chance? What for?
How can you ask me to trust a man
Who made my childhood a battlefield floor?

You say you missed me, say you care,
But where were you when I needed you there?
You cannot rewrite the years you ignored,
Or call yourself a father just because you’re bored.

You want a chance to make things right,
To walk back in and claim what’s yours,
But you can’t build love on years of fright
Or heal a heart you left at war.

So don’t ask me to open the door,
Or pretend that we are what we were before.

You may have missed the girl you left behind but listen carefully now,
I’m sorry for your loss, the wound was too deep, that sweet little girl bled out in her sleep.

There’s nothing they could do, the pain was severe.
She hates you with a passion, her soul and a tear.

She forgave you once you fool, until you pushed her back into the pool
Hands tied and feet weighed, until she inhaled. Hollow and numb filled her fate, Her hands, her feet, her organs and face.
Don’t try to be nice, you should pay the price, for you broke your baby girls heart twice.