The sun melted into the glamorous sky
The moon stood there, hidden by sweet lullabies.

But mommy was crying, her day had been hard
The tears in her eyes twinkled just like the stars.

Her face wasn't happy like it should have been
And though she was saddened, she forcefully grinned.

I wanted to see Mommy smile through it all...
I painted a picture on her bedroom walls.

I told her to look, just to come in and see
But Mommy was angry... she wasn't happy.

She threw me down hard on the cold wooden floor
Then picked me up, slamming my head on the door.

She yelled and she screamed, then she hit me once more
She slapped me till I couldn't see anymore.

My heart then stopped beating, my laugh went unheard
Then Mommy got up without saying a word.

She looked at the walls splattered with my young blood
Then fell to the ground in her tears with a thud.

She looked at my face, then she looked all around
Then wrote on the walls with the first thing she found.

Then, after she finished, she wanted self harm....
She sat on the ground, putting me in her arms.

She reached for the knife she had placed on her bed
Then stabbed her own body... she cried as she bled.

The words on the wall echoed throughout the room...
"I love you so much, Mommy... get better soon!"

Daddy, please don't touch me.
It doesn't feel good.
It makes me feel..
Naughty.

Daddy, please don't hit me.
I didn't mean to disappoint you.
When you hit me, it makes me feel...
Bad.

Daddy, please don't hurt her.
Mommy didn't do anything.
When you hit her, it makes me feel..
Mad.

Daddy, please don't say you love me.
I know you're lying.
When you say you still want me, it makes me feel...
Sad.

Daddy, please stop screaming at her.
You already killed her.
When you scream at her, it makes me feel..
Angry.

Daddy, stay there.
Let me sink the knife into your throat.
When you bleed, it makes me feel..
Alive.

Daddy, aren't you happy now?
As you lie there, lifeless.
I'm only following your footsteps.
This makes me feel...
Happy.

Daddy, please listen.
I know you can't hear me, but...
I still love you.

The same way you always loved me.

And it makes me feel...

Good, Daddy.
It makes me feel..
Good.

My legs are covered in bruises
And I have a scar by my left eye.
I’m not allowed to smile, though
And I’m not allowed to cry.

I think my right arm’s broken
But shh, don’t tell my dad.
He doesn’t like to worry bout me
When he’s already mad.

I have a burn on my left wrist
From when he pushed my arm
Against the stove, the hot, hot stove
And did a bit of harm.

I have a bear, a teddy bear.
He doesn’t have a name.
He makes me better every time
I’m feeling hurt and shame.

Today, my dad came home kind of late
A beer still in his hand.
I closed my eyes and waited.
He screamed, he shouted, and…

Well, my name is Mary Starr
And this is how I died.
But daddy always loved me.
And daddy always lied.

"I'm fine" is a dirty lie.

The truth is that I want to die.

 

"I'm tired" is not even done.

It really means "I'm tired of being no one"

 

"I'm better" is but a curse.

The truth is that I've never been worse

 

"I'm just cold" is what I say

so my sleeves can hide my scars away.

 

"I already ate" is said with a frown.

I starve to see the numbers on the scale go down.

 

"I'm okay" is probably the worst.

It really means I'm about to burst.

 

All these things are lies to me.

But you take this as the truth because what else would I be?

 

 

I slid the blade across my wrist
Once
Twice
Again and again.

Maybe I’m an emotional freak.

I cause fights and arguments
Over
And over
Again.

Maybe I’m a troublemaker.

I use make up to make myself seem
Better
And…
Prettier.

Maybe I’m girly.

I complain about things
Even when sometimes
They’re not
That
Bad.

Maybe I’m an attention seeker.

I fall under so many
Stereotypes.

So maybe I am a label.

Or maybe
I’m just me.

The face at the door is a demon, a god
He smiles through stitches, his stare rather odd
The face at the door is a cruel, silent being
Yet, people are calm, and the children aren't fleeing
Quiet yourself, for you're the only one
Crying for help at the point of a gun
Learn how to fly, rather, learn how to fall,
The face at the door... well... there's no face at all.

Dear imagination, can't you be the thing you were
Butterflies and daffodils and happiness so pure
Sunny skies and lullabies and dreams of what could be
Hidden worlds and wonderlands of things they couldn't see
Shining gowns and silver crowns for dancing with the prince
Twirling with excitement, though the others weren't convinced

Dear intimidation, did you find it to be true
All I ever needed was an overdose of you
Silly stares and laughter slowly flood a child's mind
Making me abandon every daydream I could find
Lost beneath the shadows of the sky so dark and dead
Far too weak to turn around, yet scared of things ahead

Dear destructive tendencies, I feel it's time to hear
You were all I had when nothing else seemed to be near
Everything so out of reach, too far for me to see
I decided I would choose the needle next to me
Slicing through my very skin to feel something once more
Weeping through the satisfaction I could not ignore

Dear imagination, can't you be the thing you were?
Looking at that little girl... I know I should be her…

Attention seeker?
Maybe fighting for acception.
Emo?
Rather, suffering rejection...
Ugly?
Maybe breaking for direction...
Anorexic?
Perhaps dying for correction...
Fake?
Maybe hurting for affection..

So maybe before you label someone just because you don't feel a connection...
Maybe fix yourself before you point out imperfections.

    When you are young,
they will treat you with the softness of spring.
They will guide you through the winter winds and
over snowy hills, admiring the brilliance of your
midday innocence; pulling daisies from the earth
just to place them in your hair. And they will
whisper to each other of how beautiful you are.
    When you grow older,
they will treat you with the indifferences of autumn.
They will urge you from the complacency of your own
fleeting fulfillments, and they will watch your
brilliance fade with the swiftness of the sky. You
will shed your fragile childhood with the colors of
the trees, and you will learn to face the winter winds
without their guiding arms. And they will whisper to
each other of how beautiful you are.
    When you are grown,
they will treat you with the coldness of winter. They
will leave you bare and naked before the ravenous wolves,
expecting you to fend for your own forgotten brilliance,
asking why you've kept those wilting daisies in your hair.
They will whisper through the icy winds of how fortunate you
are, to have one time danced and sung beneath the softness
of the spring; to have one time lived with midday brilliance
beaming from your face. and I swear that they will whisper
of how beautiful you once were.

Who are you?
Where are you?
What... are you?

The blinding white walls
Closing in on you
Trapping you
Drowning you.

Who are you?

Certainly not
yourself.
Certainly not that
happy little girl
jumping through fairy tales
as a sunset paints the silver sky.

Where are you?
Certainly not
home.
Definitely not where
you'd want to be.

What are you?
Certainly not
wanted.
Obviously not
needed.

Blood, scars, wounds.
Pain.
Torture.

All you see are shadows
In a room of white walls...