Depression is a choice, my dear,
And happiness the same
You choose this illness, don’t you?
What a tragic little game.
Depression is an option, love
Just get up out of bed
Take your tears and worries
And just smile now instead.
Depression is a choice, you see,
And so is suicide.
Just sit back, kick your feet up, dear
Enjoy this perfect ride.
Get over your own standards
Of what everyone should be.
Just smile for once, and maybe
You’ll be living perfectly.
Depression is an illness
That we feel so deep within.
Why would anybody choose
To write poetry on their skin?
Unless there lies a reason, dear,
I would not choo
Dear World (read description) by DragonBlast71, literature
Dear World (read description)
No, not all girly girls are sluts
No, not all tomboys are lesbians
No, not all boys showing a damned small sign of emotion are gay and/or "weak"
No, not all men are abusers
No, not all straight cis people are discriminative
No, no gender is completely innocent
No, gay men aren't the same as pedophiles
No, gender identity and sexual preferences are NOT the same
No, autism and other mental illnesses aren't an excuse to be a jerk to other people
No, autism isn't an insult nor a disease
No, Asperger's is DIFFERENT from autism, just in the spectrum, but not the same
No, your political views aren't a reason to be a jerk
No, your religious views are
When a girl tells a boy she is in love with him,
everyone agrees it is sweet and pure,
but when one girl does the same to another,
it is suddenly impure, they say.
To them, the girls drip with sin,
they want their attraction altered,
to cater towards their comfort.
When a guy kisses his girlfriend,
it is loving, and adoring,
met with coos and squeals,
but when a guy kisses his boyfriend,
it is disgusting.
They call it sodomy,
When a man proposes to a woman,
it is heartwarming, and encouraged
by loud cheers and clapping,
but when a woman buys a ring
to propose to the love of her life,
who is a woman, as well,
You're worth so much more by Tangled-Tales, literature
You're worth so much more
She was the type
to cut her wrists,
and then swallow the
because looking at what
was even harder
but I want to tell her
to let the emotions
p i l
out of her mouth,
instead of her
and that I'll gladly
let the words slice me,
if it means
it's okay to not be okay by Tangled-Tales, literature
it's okay to not be okay
sometimes it’s okay
to sit on the floor of the bathroom stall
and let your feelings gather- it’s okay
to let them pool like a lachrymose lagoon
as the inside of your stomach does summersaults;
I know these emotions can’t be tenderly released,
they’re not soft waves kissing the expecting shore,
let them pour out of you like tidal waves-
release the tsunami from within you
and I know sometimes the tears will sodden your pillowcase,
they’ll be juggernauts- those brackish beads
cathartically-cartwheeling down your flushed cheeks;
but remember how even the clouds
may cry tempestuously today,
only to make room
this is a warning. by littleblueraccoon, literature
this is a warning.
The first thing you need
to know about people is this:
If you cut off our head,
we will grow two in its place.
We will divide and conquer
until there's nothing left
but tiny gaping mouths,
clacking and salivating
at the crumbs of an empire.
They tell me hurt is like
a paper cut:
quick and forgotten,
Hurt is the first step
off a balcony,
the first gasp
in a chain reaction
screaming from the railing
to beyond the pavement.
When I finally hit the ground,
I looked up and saw my halo
dangling from the edge,
He said, she said,
I wanted, he lost, she won,
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub. by littleblueraccoon, literature
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub.
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub:
in the magazine I own that published your story,
they blurred out the crime scene photographs,
erasing your face and
the full curves of your breasts.
some part of me wonders
if you would have wanted this,
or if you would have liked for
the public to see you in your final moments,
half-soaked in grey-looking water,
your hair in strings, glued to the porcelain,
eyes closed and mouth gaping,
no breath stirring, no bubbles rising.
sometimes when I look
into the depths of my bathroom sink,
I hear your voice
(or what I imagine it to be--
after all, we never met).
you sit on the edge
You're not a failure for failing by Tangled-Tales, literature
You're not a failure for failing
Her small, anxious hands
grabbed the cup, a bit too large
as it slipped down and tumbled to the ground,
the milky mess covering the carpet:
her mother let out a disapproving sigh
and rolled her eyes,
“Will you ever do anything right?”
and that’s when she began
to limit her aspirations,
so that her dreams would never be too large,
so she’d never make any mistakes
she’d never again drop the cup,
but she’d never have enough to drink.