the sad thing is
there are people who hate me
that don't know I exist
they don't know my name
my personality
the color of my hair
what my age is
or what I wear
they haven't seen my face
heard my voice
bumped into me
been in the same room as me
and they still hate me
because of things I can't control
because of things I can't change
because of the parts of me
that they don't understand
YOU ARE READING
wilting roses
PoetryAnother collection of (bad) poems. *tw: mentions of sexual assault, drug use, drinking, suicidal ideation and self harm* -a collection of poems that document my experiences with my mental health throughout high school. a warning: i had a few undiagn...
