A Letter to Life

Dear Life,

if i stay tonight,
what will you give me?

what will happen,
that will make this worthwhile?

because right now,
i'm just about done with your shit.

i am broken,
but that does not mean

that i cannot feel
anymore.

i am close,
but not that close.

so i guess
what i ask of you,

life,
is that you stop being

such an asshole to me.
i want you

to give me some control,
okay?

because this is not
what i want.

this...
i dont like this.

i might not know
what i want just yet

but bear with me,
tone down the pain,

the fear,
the anger,

and give me
a second

to breathe.
that's all i ask.

so maybe,
if you can do that for me,

i can figure out
what's so great about you.

what everyone
seems to be

bragging about.
because right now

you look to me
like a tornado

tearing up
everything that once had

meaning,
and scattering the

pieces of my
mind, of my thoughts

all over
this field of

piercing daggers
that tear apart every chance

that i have
at hope.

but maybe
theres a slim chance

that you can change.
i've come to like

these daggers
these knives

in my mind,
as they have created

a cushion
that i always fall on

but if you give me reason to

maybe i can
leave them behind.

these ideas

get more vivid
each time
I entertain them
behind my eyelids
in front of my brain

the chill of metal
the barrel of a gun
pressed at my head
pressed at my chin

the choke of a noose
rope burning at my throat
suffocating
waiting for a sigh of relief

the blade of a knife
inching closer
and closer
because really,
what is one more
stupid kid's
life
to this world?

description?

i sort of feel like i should explain myself.

i kinda just opened up this blog, threw a shit ton of poems on it all at once, and never said anything about it.

but the thing is, explaining myself is... hard? i dunno, really. i'm not completely comfortable with the idea, because i've been through a lot, and well, if any of my friends find this...

i'm sorry.

god, i just... poetry is my way of venting pain. i'm no vincent van gogh, turning pain into beauty, no... pain is pain. pain, to me, can only be portrayed one way. but it might just be the fact that i find no purpose in happiness or positivity. my mind is void of all emotion except sadness and hurt. and that sounds like a bad thing, but i've kinda come to terms with it somewhat. actually that might be a lie. i have no idea.

but i don't want to explain this like a fucking diary. i've tried keeping diaries before to no avail. my words just continued to lose meaning.

i guess that's why i like poetry so much, because when using small amounts of words you can hide a deeper meaning behind them. i like digging for things like that. sometimes i take my old poems and dig around, even though i know what i was thinking when i wrote them, so i can find even more meaning in these words.

but hey, before i end this, i just want to put it down for the record (if you havent already figured it out from my work) i have severe depression and anxiety, and i'm struggling with wanting to take my own life.

but if you keep seeing poems here, it means i'm still alive. unless i turn into a ghost and then i can haunt this computer. that would be pretty awesome. afterlife art. fun stuff.

anyway, i hope my blog doesn't get you guys down as low as i am myself. i would say that i'll keep fighting, but i hate to lie. i dunno what's going to happen, honestly. i'm probably going to regret writing this. oops.

-Michele

I HATE GUNS

in my mouth

there is a mental gun.

i feel the cold barrel

through my teeth

and i bite

but i can't break metal

'cause it's a metaphor,

hazel grace

i hold this killing thing

with shame

unlike a dog shows off it's bone

and i'm gasping for breath

wrestling the air

'cause it's hard to inhale

with a gun in your mouth

because what if

you breathe in bullets

what if

you actually

use your chance

what would be the

horror,

what would be the 

terror,

what would be the

pain,

but you so much

as lay a finger on

that trigger,

i will blow

my entire world

to bits.

please

dont make me

hurt me

anymore

fireworks

ignore my stupid voice, but there's a heart shaped one in the very beginning. i thought it was about time i lightened up this site a tiny little bit before tearing it down again. enjoy.

Fairy Tales

Once upon a time
anxiety
would pass through
my ears
without a backwards glance.
No memories
of shaking
No memories
of trembling hands
and a mute tongue.

Once upon a time
depression
was just a sad word
that I could not relate
to.
That I could not understand.

I never thought
those
"don't kill yourself tonight"
signs
would be for me.

I never thought
suicide
would cross my mind.

I never thought
giving up
would feel
so great

like a wonderful
rush of
"I don't want to
deal with this anymore"
thoughts

washing over me
like the ocean
after a hurricane
knocks little children
onto their heads.

Truth.

I am sad.
I am tired.
I am frustrated.
I am scared.
I am weighed down
By anvils
And rooms
That will be
Boarded up
I am not a fighter
I am a sleeper
Who never gives up
A nap.