I didn’t come here to script up a silly rhyme,
Putting together letters of the alphabet and creating a story produced on my own time.
I came to speak you a lullaby with all the fixings of my broken past
I was a little girl.
Playing in the sun soaking it up like it was the air my skin breathed
Pouncing in the puddles that merged into flowing streams filled with the tears of the sky that wouldnt stop unless the sun kissed them goodbye.
I was alone.
Picked on like a toy greeting its fate by a claw puling it out of its ******* dream
Years passed and seasons changed, my brain couldn’t hold on to simple words.
My grades pained my parent’s eyes as I kept falling into a painted face with a smile
I never knew something was haunting my soul, the very dreams I conceived on a nightly basis wouldn’t leave me alone.
They were nightmares.
Years past and seasons changed, my brain couldn’t hold onto simple emotions.
No. These emotions were like tides that were tormented by the moon while everyone slept.
They didn’t see my eyes, I hid them, I never let
They never meet the glance of another’s
Tears and pain I couldn’t explain would give me away like criminal set on fire
It’s just a phase.
As blood would run from my skin, flowing freely like a bird set out of its cage it wasn’t a stage it wasn’t a phase it was a disease.
Counting calories I would fall to my knees in defeat
Self-destruction was the answer to the question that was never asked
Years passed and nothing changed
I began to daydream about the flame in my lungs going out, as my final cry would be a shout to the world.
I wanted to leave.
No one understood me I was a caged animal on display
showing off all my pain no one knew how to handle me. How could they?
I was a mess spilled from the top of the Eifel tower. Every single ******* hour I would breath just to pray it be my last.
Then I found myself living in my present past.
It wasn’t a phase. It was a disease.
It is a disease, it manifests itself like it’s the king of hell and whenever I try to succeed it shoots me down faster than a hunter in the open seas.
Tidal waves rock me to sleep I begin to believe I will never get better.
And maybe I wont.
But I will fight with all my scars and broken bones with my cemented heart missing corners with lost value like an unwanted antique.
Because if I don fight what do I have?
All I would have is a discounted life with no value tag.