A Reality Filled With Poems

People

The people around constantly talk, 

Their mouthes form hurtful words, repeatedly insulting every little another will say or do,

What I will say, or do..

The sentences they speak continue to penatrate my skin,

Ripping it apart, creating the scars I stare at in every waking moment,

The scars try to fade, 

But the knife.. 

The knife; It doesn't let them..

The lies they tell me run like a song on repeat through my head,

Their fake kindness has me questioning every person I've met,

Is everyone this way? 

Is there no such thing as true kindness?

The games they play with my mind have me wondering about every move I make;

"Are they going to talk because moved my hand?"

"I pronounced something wrong; Are they going to laugh?" 

These worries bounce back and forth through my thoughts like a kid on a trampoline..

Trampolines. Kids jumped with their friends on those endearing contrapments..

Friends.. Are they really friends?

Are they really people you can trust and talk to openly about your problems?

Are they really people who love you for who you are?

Or are they like everyone else.. 

They'll talk about me just like everyone else,

They'll lie to my face about my worries, telling me everything is alright and that they're there for me always;

But they're not.

When they know.. When they know the truth, they'll run.

They won't understand,

They'll be just like the rest..

My problems aren't enough.

My problems aren't worth being bothered over.

"Depression doesn't exist" they'll say..

But if it doesn't exist.. Then why can't I get over it?

Why am I still stuck in this endless cycle filled with worries and physical sadness?

Why do those haunting memories continue to bother me?

Why does it not exist if I feel it? 

I feel it..

I lock myself away in a world filled with people who truly care,

People who love to hear my laughter,

Who appreciate everything I do,

Who listen to me and never judge when I'm upset.

But that world.. 

It doesn't exist.

It's a make believe place where I delude myself into thinking that everything will be alright,

That I'll be okay one day and live the happy life I'm supposed to.

But that's not true.

I won't be happy at the end of the day,

I'll continue to walk the same path,

Continue to feel the same way,

Hoping to be able to find a way out because 

I can't talk to people..

People will never understand..

People never do understand.. 

They all judge my thoughts and feelings and tell me to get over it;

The heart wrenching feeling takes over every time those words are spoken..

Even the knife is not enough to take away the pain that comes along with those words.

But people don't know that the knife is the only reason I still sleep at night.

They believe that it's the fact that depression doesn't really exist..

That I continously make up lies for attention..

So when the time comes to get help, the doctors shove the pills into my face and send me off..

The pills.. Oh, the pills.. 

The pills sit in the back corner of the abandoned medicine cabinet for safe keeping;

Because the pills are useless,

Worthless,

Just like me..

They'll never help the problem I have,

People will never help the problem I have,

The problem I have is because of people,

So why would people be able to fix it? 

Mistakes.. 

People all make mistakes;

So many mistakes are made in the course of a minute that it's hard to believe they're truly mistakes anymore.

The fact that so many mistakes can be made every minute is a frightening thought.

And that frightening thought.. 

That frightening thought feeds into my worries..

The worries that people all will never understand,

That people tell me to get over,

That people claim are insufficent and idiotic,

But they don't understand.. 

They'll never understand..

Only the knife understands;

But even then, the knife isn't a person.. 

The knife only takes away the pain,

Helps my thoughts snap back into a reality check,

Helps me escape to the reality that I know will never be real,

But I can hope.. 

I can hope and bleed to my hearts content that one day it could exist..

That one day, I could be happy,

Smile truly,

Stop the faking and lies that I continuously speak and tell people,

Stop the feelings of utter terror,

Ease the thoughts in my mind that play on repeat,

Have friends that I'll never doubt,

Believe the lies people tell me,

But people.. 

It's because of ignorance that people will never truly understand,

Understand my story,

My worries,

My pain..