Well hello there! Welcome to my blog, where I write "possibly the most beautiful, depressing, brutally honest" poetry some people have ever seen. I write purely from personal experience, and every so often, I include a rant or two. My blog is getting old, so there are a lot of poems to read, and I'd very much appreciate if it you left a reaction!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
If You Really Knew Me
If you really knew me, you'd know I feel awkward and ugly in comparison to Hayley. You would know that my biggest fear isn't spiders, it's being alone. I don't ever want to be alone, no matter what I say. If you really knew me, you'd have more patience. You would know that I only try in school so my parents might actually decide I'm worthy of being called their daughter. You would know how badly I want to escape, to run away forever.
If you really saw me, you'd see my bones poking through my skin. You'd notice that I get weaker and skinner every week. You'd notice that I don't eat half the food I put on my tray. You might see that I refused my favorite food. If you really saw me, you'd wonder why I wear knee-highs in gym and when I wear shorts. You might notice the dark circles under my eyes. If you looked, you would see that my eyes look glazed. You might ask about it, if you really looked.
If you didn't just hear the words that I say, but actually listened as well, you'd notice the life in my voice isn't as vibrant as it used to be. You'd hear the difference between what I sound like now compared to before. You might hear the pleading in my words. Maybe, just maybe, you'd hear my cry for help. You might hear the depressed tone, the dead humor.
If you really cared, you'd do something.
If you really saw me, you'd see my bones poking through my skin. You'd notice that I get weaker and skinner every week. You'd notice that I don't eat half the food I put on my tray. You might see that I refused my favorite food. If you really saw me, you'd wonder why I wear knee-highs in gym and when I wear shorts. You might notice the dark circles under my eyes. If you looked, you would see that my eyes look glazed. You might ask about it, if you really looked.
If you didn't just hear the words that I say, but actually listened as well, you'd notice the life in my voice isn't as vibrant as it used to be. You'd hear the difference between what I sound like now compared to before. You might hear the pleading in my words. Maybe, just maybe, you'd hear my cry for help. You might hear the depressed tone, the dead humor.
If you really cared, you'd do something.
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