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Literature Text
I painted.
You said I'm wasteful.
I sang.
You said I couldn't hold a tune.
I wrote.
You said I made no sense.
I danced.
You said I had two left feet.
I cried.
You told me I was ugly.
I will be amazing one day.
You said I'm wasteful.
I sang.
You said I couldn't hold a tune.
I wrote.
You said I made no sense.
I danced.
You said I had two left feet.
I cried.
You told me I was ugly.
I will be amazing one day.
Just to make all of you wonder why you didn't get to know me better.
Literature
please let me get what i want.
For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up. I woke up with this bone-deep ache that never went away. I woke up to an incessant question playing in my mind that would never be answered. I woke up alone.
For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up without you when I woke up at all. The thing about time is that it never does make anything better. It just means more space to think. It means sleepless nights trying to figure it all out. When it went wrong. How to make it better. It means slowly losing my mind. But it never once meant getting over you.
It's funny how the things you think you've forgotten always come rushing back when you
Literature
A Child Again
I wish I could be a child again.
Where all I had to worry about
Were skinned knees
And cooties from boys.
I wish I would be a child again.
Where boys ran away from girls
And no one lied.
I wish I could be a child again.
Where parents were devoted
In every part of my life.
I wish I could be a child again.
When there was recess,
And fun and games.
I want to be a child again.
I want the child meant wonder.
I want the never ending hope.
I want loyalty.
I want simplicity.
I want to be a child again.
I want my innocence back.
I want to not have to worry.
I want grades that don't matter
I want time outs to be the worse punishme
Literature
I tried
I tried to count my scars,
But I couldn't tell
Where one began
And another ended.
So I tried to count the cuts,
But I couldn't, because
Blood smeared across my skin,
Connecting them like a thin,
Red veil of pain.
And so I cried.
I cried a single tear, because
When I need to cry,
I can't.
Finally, I sat down,
And put pen to paper,
Or fingers to keys.
And tried to write my emotions.
But I couldn't, because
I don't know how to tell the world
What I feel like,
When I have no right.
I looked from the blood stained tissues,
Across my torn body,
Into my own eyes, reflected perfectly by the mirror before me.
Another tear was p
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Depression seems to be inspirational at times.
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Or you could just drop the loser! 
