I write because I am sick, because I am always filled with anger and sadness.
Typing my heart and soul out through these keys onto this screen and now in your mind is how I can slowly save myself.
 Ever so slowly. The type of girl that dreams of the sentences and sayings that would love to be projected out for the world to see and recognize. 

I know I am a good writer, I can make my feelings so intense I astonish myself. But nonetheless I am still sick at the end of the day.
I still study the scars on my arms and see where I didn't press hard enough. I think back to times I've taken pills to end my life but only god knows why I woke up from a sleep that was supposed to take me. I look at my son and wonder how he could have survived while during my first, second, and third month of pregnancy I was smoking, taking E, and being as promiscuous as I can.

I stare at my naked body in the mirror and think of how the elements of the universe came to create such a piss poor job of a human. Why after all the times I've tried to kill myself and damaged my body, God still for some strange reason made me stay when all I ever wanted to do was leave.
I write because I don't want to feel this way about myself anymore. I want to smile a real smile. Be happy without someone shaking me back to reality. "Brittney, stop." 
I want love for my soul and mind. I want what I don't have. I am desperate for this.