I know I won't make it.
I can feel it in my stomach as it hurts
every time I breathe, every time I
am. The painful reminder that
I've always known this uncomfortable
emptiness since my mind was too young to
hate me, keeps me awake at night.
How can they be so oblivious? How can
they ignore so much? I'm so tired
of unapologetic people, of selfish
people, all reminding through their teeth
how much they love you, while spitting on you
how much of a fuck up you are.

I remember the feeling of the cold floor
against the scars on my little knees,
hands too small to protect anything,
anyone, mind too young to matter, only a
burden, I sank there, alone in the dark,
praying to God I would die, somehow,
please, let me die, let me disappear.
Seven is an age too young to desire death,
to fill an entire page with words
full of suicide and hate. Its disgusting that
I was, I am too young, too unimportant to be heard.

The room spun, and spun, and all I heard
was this heavy silence, my heartbeats
drilling against my temples were feeling,
not sound, the saltiness leaving crusty
trails on childish cheeks, a sinking feeling
on my stomach so familiar, it made company
to the fire of my swallowed words against my throat.
And there were people around, so many people, but they
were not there to mind, to care at all,
they were there to point, laugh and ignore,
so little, so insecure, so immature,
so dumb, stop, stop, stop, stop.

Alone and lonely, crazy and attention seeker,
you would love for it to be so simple.
When this cloudy thing, this drowning like
feeling starts to filter your day,
it's like you're not human, you don't even exist,
you borrowed this person's life and you walk,
like a zombie, no purpose and death at your
fingertips. You exist, and it hurts.
It's so bittersweet to notice you haven't changed
at all, you're still the child kneeling
on the cold floor, alone, wishing for what you think
is death, but truly you only want to stop feeling
this way, you're still the child asking through
spit and tears why is it that you feel like this,
why is it that while you're so empty and numb you
can still hurt like a broken bone.

Smile, shut up, smile, shut up.

You still haven't gotten your answer,
and twenty one feels like the limit.