The Real Me (a poem)

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You act like you know what's going on with me,

But all of it's a lie.

I'm not the girl I used to be,

To her I've said good-bye.

The blood that left my wrist before,

Is all my pain and sadness.

I will not hurt myself no more,

But sometimes I do get restless.

Sleeping can get pretty hard,

When depression seeps inside.

When it feels like inside, you have a glass shard,

It's kind of hard to hide.

Depression is a feeling,

Where it's always dark and sad.

And it always keeps on reeling,

It makes you feel so bad.

Sometimes you want to leave,

And be done with life forever.

You think, "This isn't me.

Will I be happy... never."

They look at me the way I act,

As happy as can be.

But on the inside, the real fact,

Is that it isn't me.

~ M.

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