Okay, I wrote these poems like, 3-4 years ago. I'm more of an author than a poet, so if these suck that would be why. The poems are a bit dark, but I wrote them when I was really depressed. The 3rd one, (Why Must You) has to do with the day my brother finally left home, and what it's like to watch my father be the abusive a-hole that he is. The Need Rubbing the cold steel against my skin I want to slice, slice through the plump, tender, peachy flesh I want to feel the pain of a large paper cut, rather than the cracking and breaking of my bruised heart My stomach twists, turns, knots, unknots My eyes are dry, sore, tired I don’t want to cry anymore Dreams, so faded, so far, so real, yet so far I care too much and fall in love too quick I feel abused, violated, raped, tortured Walking down the street, arms tight around myself My hair, too short to hide my face They see me, those hateful monsters They throw insults that bruise me more The pain, the pain I want release somehow I don’t know what to do anymore My life is fading into fantasy Doesn’t anyone think twice about me? It’s all about others pain The shadow of the happy me is so tiny It’s the size of a speck of dust on the hole in my soul I ache, my heart thuds, hard against my chest I feel my stomach clench in pain, the quilt washes over I cry, and cry, and cry Happiness, just a word on a page I may have experienced it, way back then Maybe when I was a child, maybe when I was just born But now, it comes, but then leaves like a flash of light I don’t know what to do, or how to escape Bringing the knife to my wrist, shaking my head No, no, no Not what I want to do, I am so confused I don’t know where to go, where to turn I’m this ugly girl, sitting here How many times must I sit here, holding the scissors to my arm and rub them up and down It makes scars, makes a mess of my arms I feel somewhat relived afterwards But then the quilt returns I’m never not haunted by my dumb mistakes, or by the calls by people I hate to see huddled in their groups Why do I have to be me? Holding this knife, or object to my skin? Why do I have to be the one who gets hurt all the time? Why? === The Pain Does this feeling ever go away? Will I always feel empty inside, Ugly outside? Will the man of my dreams, Be just that? Can I hide the pain forever? Will it be able to be registered? By my eyes, motions or voice? Happiness... just a word. Why do I have to put "you" in front? Do my feelings count? Life seems so... pointless. I want to know the feelings. The warm and fuzzy ones. The one’s I feel for you. I wish for them to be shared. But it’s never going to happen. I just want to be me again. I don’t want to blame anyone But there are people to blame My misery just didn’t show on it’s own. Have I ever been happy? Do I ever smile? Can’t I just wake up. === Why Must You Anger bellows deep below. Question's never answered. Madness boils over. Plate is thrown, glass breaks, harsh words spread. Pushing and shoving. Slapping and cursing. A Door opens. She looks out. See's the fight. Shuts the door. She doesn't want to see any more. She doesn't want to stay anymore. She wants to leave and never come back. Door's slam. Car springs to life. Tires screech. Silence. The footsteps past her door. Arguing begins again. She sighs and wishes. For a perfect life. And a perfect father. The fight stops. Footsteps again. Truck door opens. The house is quiet. Mother is cleaning. Life grows slow. This is it. She can't take no more. Why must you act like this?