If I sat down beside

If I sat down beside you would you be mad?

It seems everything I do dissapoints you.

I don't mean to make you cry, I don't mean to make you sad.

But every litte thing I do, dissapoints you.


My shoulders burn with the cuts my broken razor inflicts on me,

Every day I check your wrists, never accounting for the angry red lines I hide myself.

You are like a caged bird, longing to be free.

I am an antique doll, losing all hope of ever coming off the shelf.


Does the boy know how it is not you but I he should be worried for?

Dutifully he checks your body for angry red lines that mare snow white skin,

Yet it is my body on which scars appear more and more.

I feel sick, like everything I do is an unspeakable sin. 


You pour your problems upon me,

never once stopping to ask of my own.

You toss me aside when I am not needed,

and seat yourself on a golden throne.


The scars burn on my shoulders like lines of raging fire ants,

as I listen to your latest never ending rant.

This poem is about: 
My community


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741