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I, personally, don't think I write all that good. But it's how I get my emotions out and I love to write.

But You Wouldn't Care
Dedication: father
I'm sitting in my room
crying to myself
but you wouldn't care
you're the one that caused the tears
I can't help but benegative about myself
Ive never been told anything that wasn't negative
I try to speak, but Im choked by tears
but you wouldn't care
you've never been there anyway
wishing I could slit my wrists
to end my wicked life
but I've never had the guts
what the hell is wrong with me?
why am I even still here?
but you wouldn't care
you never wanted me anyway
blasting my music to hide my cries
of fear?
of pain?
of never being loved?
or is it none of the above?
but you wouldn't care
you've just tuned me out my whole life
you've never listened
you've never cared
hell, Im not even sure if you were there
lying in my bed
still crying myself to sleep
but you wouldn't care, dad
you've never loved me


Cut

I tried to cut myself last night,
but nothing ever works.
The soft blade wont pierce my skin.
Pain is saved for words.
I run the blade against my arm,
too scared to press too hard.
Small lines appear on my skin,
never deep enough to scar.
Now my arm begins to redden,
and the lines begin to burn.
Depression starts to set in.
It's finally my turn.
Oh yes, I know the problem,
it is my pitiful life.
It's too bad the only solution,
is to find a sharper knife.

A Suicide Story

Sad, hurt, depressed, and crying,
sick of tears and sick of lying.
"I'm tired, that's all, I swear I'm okay!"
She lied to her friends on her final day.
Little did they know that it was so much more.
And now she lies dead on the floor.
The words confused, lost, unloved, and bleeding,
vaguely describe the way she was feeling.
So sick of it all, she went home and cried.
That very same spot is where she died.
Her father saw blood leaking onto the floor.
He screamed for his daughter, "open this door!"
Worried, scared and unaware,
he broke down the door and saw her there.
In one hand there was a note
inside of which this very poem was wrote.
In her other hand there was a knife
the very same that had ended her life .


{I wrote this poem in 5th grade. It was my first poem ever. The punctuation isn't great. I'm in 9th now.}

Ending it all

On a dark desert beach, a little girl lies
with depression and hatred shone in her eyes
they glisten like crystals, and like glass are her tears
as they fall into the sea like they have for so many years
and as these salty tears fall and then splash
she whisers aloud "these are the last"
so she runs to the forest, to her private place
to her own fresh air, to her own free space
she takes her dagger and forgets all the pain
she no longer has to play this meaningless game
the meaningless game of life that she's suffered through
has left and gone, what else could she do?
what she remembered were the cold blade inside of her and the world all around
what I remember was the look on her face as her blood touched the ground

Thank you so much.
I feel loads better now. =3

I wrote this last night. I consider it more of a song than a poem.
If you're wondering who it's about, it's dedicated to David, my boyfriend of two weeks and friend of much longer.

Baby, these feelings
I've never felt this way before
and you boy, you take me
to a place I've never been before
it's you, you're the one
it's the way you make me feel

You take me places
that I never could explain
my heart, it belongs to you
and it will never be the same
after you there'll be no me
you're like oxygen to my brain
I need you, and these feelings
are feelings I can't explain

This love you give is better than
any necklace you could ever buy
No one else could ever give me
the twinkle in my eyes
when I see you

It's true, it's you
you're the only one for me

It's true, it's you
you're the only one for me

It's true, nothing's better than
the love that you give me

It's true, it's you
you're the only one for me

It's true