Angsty Poetry from My Teenage Years

I was attempting to clean out some random boxes that (somehow) managed to make it through the last move, in effort to start consolidating all my crap (because we’re going to start house shopping)… and came across the following angsty teenage poetry. I wrote it all between sophmore and senior year in high school.  
Quietly Asked
Each slice
Not a cry
But a quietly asked question
Why doesn’t anyone care?
Will you help me?
This one deeper
Why do I hurt?
This one longer
Will it ever stop?
A fifth
Why does he ignore me?
 And still no answers.
Why does she hate me?
Even after the sixth
No screams
No cries for help
More questions
Why am I so ugly?
Why am I so dumb?
Will I ever belong?
Still no answers, weather shouted, whispered, or said
A wrist, an arm, a leg
A once beautiful body
Full of quiet questions
And no answers
A cutter doesn’t cry out in pain
Who would hear me? She asks
Who would listen? He thinks
They hide their scars
Not a cry, but a quiet question
Hanging in the air
Bleeding on a body
Asking for quiet answers
So What?
She wants long legs,
And thighs to kill.
So what if it makes her pulse pound?
So what if it makes her sick?
Who cares about a tremble?
So she can be thin.
She wants a flat belly,
And perfect hips.
So what if it burns when it comes up?
So what if it tastes gross?
Who cares about enamel?
So she can be thin.
She wants a small butt,
And size 0 jeans.
So what if she fakes she’s not hungry?
So what if she eats nothing all day?
Wo cares if her stomach growls?
So she can be thin.
She wants bigger breasts,
And a smaller waist.
She’d do anything,
So she can be thin.
I had a dream,
And in it I told you how I really felt.
And then you said you feel the same way.
But it was just a dream.
And I didn’t really tell you.
What would you say if I did?
Would you really tell me you feel the same?
Would you tell me you’ve loved me since you met me?
Would you laugh and say “no way”?
Would you say anything at all, or pretend like it didn’t happen?
Do dreams really come true?
I’d like to think so.
But I’d never tell you.
So it’d never come true.
Who really wastes time dreaming anyway?
I like 2 think that maybe,
You miss me now,
Instead of me missing you.
How does it feel to know
That I won’t cum back like I used 2?
I don’t want you.
Not like I used 2.
I won’t cum back,
And I really mean it this time.
I like to think you miss me like I missed you.
I like to think you feel like I felt,
When I missed you,
When I just wanted to hold you,
when I just wanted to talk to you.
I like to think you miss me like I missed you.
Self injury
It hurts
But it makes everything else go away
Inside and out
There are two different types
She can feel it the day after
And it reminds her of the pain
It stings and it scars
It makes her ashamed
She gets mad at herself
But can’t stop
She doesn’t even realize
And then  it’s too late
One pain is gone,
But there’s another in its place
And she feels better for a while
After School Special
I have a pretty razor.
Let’s see what it can do…
I’ll draw a pretty picture,
Upon a wrist or two.
I’ll draw in pretty colors,
Like red, peach, black, and blue.
I’ll take that pretty razor in the shower with me,
So all those pretty colors
Won’t stain my mother’s floors.
When I’m done with my pretty razor
After we see what it can do
The sirens will start singing.
The gurney will appear.
Everyone will be crying
About my pretty razor
On the shower floor.
They’ll wonder why I drew my pretty picture
In red, peach, black, and blue
Upon a wrist or two.
No one will know, and I won’t be able to explain.
The medics will just sigh
And shake their heads at a misunderstood youth of this nation
Mom will cry and blame herself.
Maybe they’ll make a movie
(Turn me into an After School Special)
And call it “A Horrible Loneliness” or “Upon a Wrist or Two”.
-Hey Waitress!!
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