I lived as a child.

I grew with my mother's love

and my father's protection.

I wasn't "right" in the school's

perspective of expression.

I was downgraded by my words

and was labeled without proof. 

I was confused with this

change that involved the power of 

the "roof".

I grew older but felt fainter 

with only thoughts to control my anger.

I screamed, cried, and withered in pain,

only to feel the tears fall like the rain.

I longed for comfort but 

was shut out by this father-less house. 

This rut;

formed around my heart

only to be soothed by 

the dark thoughts that clouded my mind.

I was dead inside;

no father, no mother, no hope.

with this skipping rope

I no longer use for play 

is now my weapon 

to take me to saint's day.

With these cuts scraped in my skin

that were used as my deadly sins.

Instead of taking my life

I started to write.

I wrote all these dark thoughts down.

Until they were no longer around. 

I saved myself from death 

and no longer waited for my last breath.

I took my pain 

and put it on paper 

as if to trap and drain

to leave a beautiful girl behind.

With this wonderful mind.