My Booklet of Self-made Poems

Barely Treading above the Water

My head is barely treading above the water. 

I can hardly breathe,

No one can seem to see what all this is doing to me.

My skin has tasted the cold metal touch of a blade,

As it carves all my woes into my arm.

The heavy liquid pouring down from the thin lines.

Won't someone show me that you care so that I don't 

resort to the truly un-thinkable.

No.

I can't, I won't even think that dirty little thought that has been 

floating around aimlessly in my head.

I must stay strong, I will fight.

I will not give in to the temptations of the thoughts that life hs thrown at me.

I will stand back up after you knock me down just to prove that you don't own me.

or control what I say or do like your own little mindless puppet on its strings.

But yet, 

No matter what I do, No matter how hard I may try nothing works.

The failsafe has failed us.

Hope has fled my being.

All prayers for the arrival of my salvation have been kicked to the side, rejected, and so easily denied.

She sits in her room on her bed, 

her hair hanging over her face all tangles and matted.

Her once beautiful skin now ruined and tainted by the dozens of roses blooming on her arms in rows of two.

The petals slowly blowing away in the breeze that is emitted from her mouth as she lets out a silent scream of her pain.

Large waterfalls start to roll down her cheeks making little dot-like patterns on her long skinny jeans,

By those of which cover the other rows of roses that once bloomed across the 

terrain of her pale skinned legs.

But now only the empty rose-less rows  are all that remain,

hidden beneath a thin sheet of ice.

So all throughout the night her bloodshot eyes,

continue to push forward the flow of the waterfalls as they roll down her once beautiful pink flushed cheeks.

She can't handle it anymore, 

Her sanity has broken.

Her wall torn down.

Her happy masked cracked.

Now melting away the facade and reveals a girl whose eyes scream " Help Me!".

Which show the bitter turmoil she holds down inside.

Her lips that once held her golden smile,

Now only hold upon them a distasteful frown. 

They can see how broken she truly was, 

How broken they had made her.

How truly scarred she was on the inside. 

The pain.

The sadness.

The bittersweet sorrows of which are, 

and will forever will be her life.