And This Is Me

Subtitle

Home

I don't understand. Anything. Like why the sky's blue. Or why humans aren't the pets. The list goes on and on...But the one thing I don't understand more than anything, is how I'm expected to call this a home. I don't know exactly what a home is supposed to feel like, but I'm guessing it's not this. I assume it's supposed to be welcoming. Comforting. Happy. Not distressed & filled with tension. I don't consider this building as a home to me; it's walls put up that I'm forced to live in. These walls tell dreadful stories. Just dwelling within their boundries, you encounter the hopelessness of past occupants. Sleeping at night is near impossible when every creak of the floorboard brings numerous, horrifying memories to come flooding to mind. This house is not a home; it's a hell.

I'm not anyone's first choice.
I'm not anyone's favorite.
peaople may tell me
I mean a lot to them
but I know
there's always someone
they will choose
over me.

And she will fall again & again.

Fear of the

unknown...

dear future lover,
i hope that our love is the kind that i don't even have to think about. i gope i never have to convince myself to love any certain part of you because i hope it all comes naturally. i hope our love is the kind that is quiet on the outside, but loud on the inside. i want to love you like the space between lighting and thunder- electrified and alive, but silent and knowing. and i want you to love me like the clouds love the rain. you're going to have to let me go on my own somtimes, but i will always come back and we will always be two partsof the same thing.
-maggie gesek ♥

& as i layed down in bed that night, for the first time in a long time everything felt right. it was like i had been sleeping in a strangers bed for so long, & to back in my own felt like a warm welcoming unto my home. something in the crispness of the still summer air felt comforting. i felt at home at last.

Just for ONCE, I think, please please please, let my best be good enough.

Emotions are so stupid, I go from feeling so happy & content to sad & depressed in the blink of an eye, it's so frusterating & not fun. Take these bad feelings awayy!

Don't you wish you could go back to when everything was simple...?

Would I cross your mind if I died?

That's the thing about depression: a human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, & it compounds daily, that it's impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key.

"Why do you cut?"
I am so sick of hearing that question. I cut because it's the only pain I can control. I cut because it releaves the tension I have built up inside. I cut because it makes me happy. I cut because it's a cry for help, not attention. I cut because I like to see the blood. I cut because it leaves behind beautiful scars. I cut because now I can't stop. I cut because I'm addicted. I'm addicted to the pain...

After everything I've been through, I've lost all trust & hope in everything and everyone. That was until I met you. You are the only exception. I love you more than a fat kid loves McDonalds.(; I love you more than feet & glitter. Pink glitter at that. I love everything about you. I love how comfortable I feel around you. I love your hugs & kisses. I love how I can open up to you & know you'll still love me. Imperfections & all. I just love you. ♥

Fiction
No word is strong enough
yet gentle enough
to convey what I feel
for you

You hold so much back
while I pur out my heart

I want to go back
& live in the moments
when you looked at me
with lovingeyes

Now all I see
is pain radiating
from your careful soul

All I've done
is stolen a couple of beats from your heart
& left you in an ocean of guilt
for breaking mine

I opened the windows & saw the night & the cold stars & the pine trees below the window & then got into bed as fast as I could. It was lovely in bed with the air so cold & dear & the night outside the window.

Roses are dead
Violets are crying
I'm in the hospitel
they say I'm dying

I didn't mean to ruin every-thing.

It's perfectly

okay to admit

you're not

okay (:

My idea of home is not being isolated from the outside world in my room. My idea of home isn't fighting with all other occupants & never feeling good enough. My idea of home isn't crying myself to sleep every night. "Home" is not defined by the place you grew up in; home is where my arms are wrapped around you, while we sit in silence that isn't awkward, listening to our favorite song. Home is laughing till your stomach hurts, & realizing that everything's gonna be okay. Home isn't where you live; it's where you learn to love.

And I shall die like the rest of them I suppose.It will be a sad one. Like a baby bird jumping from its nest before it's ready to fly. A little too eager for what's to come. Life decives all of us. We expect something great to come of our lives Nothing does. We eagerly await the day that will make life worth living. We wait our whole lives for something. Then we die disappointed. What is it we're expecting though? Is it love? Is it loss? Is it fame? Wealth? What exactly is it we're looking for? Happiness. That's all anybody ever wants. But how can we achive complete happiness in the current state of our society? We can't. That's why we go on in our lives feeling like something's missin. But we're not sure what. Because we convince ourselves that we are happy & content with our lives. But we're not & it's truly sad....

Tracing the tip of the knife up and down your arm. Wondering if it''s really worth it. You put the knife down just beside the bottle of pills and stare into nothing. Thinking. Wondering how your life has come to this. I mean, you've already downed a full water bottle full of alcohol. You've packed your bags, ready to leave. And you're only fourteen. You can't take the thoughts racing through your head and you grab six pills and swallow. One. By. One. You grab the knife and without hesitation or thought you make one. Two. Three. Lines across the soft white skin of your arm. It takes a few seconds for it to start bleeding, but once it does, you break. You cry. And can't stop. Unsure of yourself. Unsure of anything anymore. You're such a fuck up. You can't do anything right. You even failed at suicide. What more are a few more cuts. It's not like anyone will notice. Nobody has noticed that you've stopped eating and talking to people. Nobody has noticed how depressed you've been for three years. Nobody has noticed that you cry yourself to sleep and that all you do is sleep. Nobody has noticed how poorly you've been doing in school lately. I mean, nobody has noticed you. One. Two. Three. Four more cuts. The blood drips down to the carpet below. You look solomnly at your reflection in the mirror. Unhappy with what you see. Unable to stop crying. You deside to end it all, right then. And I think we all know what happened after that.

The End

No one will ever truly understand. Understand anything about me and why I am the way I am. I don’t even get me. I don’t know why I’m so afraid to let anyone in. In on my feelings. My thoughts. I’m a quite depressing person, actually. All the smiling and laughing is just so I won’t cry. It’s all fake. I truly am dying on the inside. From drug abuse and mistreating my body. But, I mean, who really cares? What else is there to do? I have no one to turn to and crying yourself to sleep every night gets old real quick. So, that’s all I have to say. Nobody knows.

flashback
as i shut my eyes
during the still of night
it all comes flooding back

i'm a survivor
of the worst kind
the ones who tried to take their lives
forever cursed
they know not of
laughter, joy, or cheer
they're left alone
with no way to cope with the pain

abandoned, lost, & forgotten
they once were
the times will pass
but memories never forgotten

I put a fake smile on daily, just hoping for someone to notice & save me but, at the same time in a sick twisted way I want it to stay like this.

I'm in repair. I'm not together, but I'm getting there.

Secrets Kept
Some are hidden
by long sleves
& baggy sweaters
behind bloodshot eyes
& stale breath
written in light graphite
on crinkled sheets
in shoe boxes,
therapy sessions
& 2AM messages.

Wrists

I used to know a girl

with a smile on her face

a rose in her cheeks

and a symphony in her lips.

Now I know a girl

with slices on her wrists

snow in her cheeks

and a secret that persists.

DEPRESSION:
The story of my life..

My scars are fading, I feel so lost without them...

You can't trust everyone. You can't let people too close. Which is kind of sad in a way, but it's true.

so many

there are

so many meadows

i have not

so many roads

i have not

so many mountains

i have not

so many songs

i have not

so many books

i have not

so many hearts

i have not

so many

i have not

so many

i have

so many

i forget

so many

i do not see

Hold On

You get to a point where it starts to feel okay to feel again & the midnight air doesn't suffocate you & the sky doesn't seem to hang so low anymore & if I would've told myself a month ago that it'd be okay, I wouldn't have believed it, but here I am, standing in the middle of the forest with no one around for miles and miles, & I do not feel along.

The hardest part about recovery is when you're not sure you want to recover.

Once I knew a boy, who fell in love with a girl, who smiled at the thought of her name. I once knew a girl, who fell in love with a boy, who felt the very same. But it became a struggle & timing was wrong & love decided they didn't belong.

Forgotten
soon i will f a d e
like a photograph
left upon the windowsill,
and you will wipe away
my name from your lips

my laughter will become
a faintly familiar echo
in the hollows of your memory,
and unlike your thriving soul,
i will be fixed in a state of affliction
by the absence of your tenderness

yes, the fire in your heart
that once burned brightly for me
is growing dimmer by the hour,
however, you shall remain with me
e v e r m o r e