I Don't Even Know What To Call This One...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Haha. Probably the deepest thing I've ever written...

Submitted: August 15, 2015

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Submitted: August 15, 2015



I’d like to rip my heart from my chest

It’s not like it’s beating anyway

Just rip it out, throw it down

Stomp it into the dirt

It hurts, God, it hurts

And before you get the idea

No, it’s not love

This isn’t some beautifully tragic love story

Sorry to disappoint; this is life

Cold, hard, bitter

Like a frozen, rotten apple shoved down your throat

By lies and promises not kept

This is depression

Not those ‘beautiful’ scars,

But the deep gashes on your wrist, legs

Shoulders, abdomen, and thighs

And the showers that hurt

The clothes that have to be either way too lose or way too tight

So you don’t scream in agony with every step you take

This is anxiety clawing at your mind

Ripping at your sanity with sharp

Venom tipped claws

This is insecurity

Not a small voice whispering you’re not good enough

But the voice of a thousand demons

Screaming that you’re one




And that no matter what you do

How hard you try

How much you starve yourself

Or jam your finger down your throat

You’ll never be pretty

Or smart

Or be able to sing

Or fulfill any of your dreams

This is laying down at night

Tapping the clock 4 times at 11:11

Wishing you won’t wake up in the morning

But hating yourself for not having the balls

To just pull that FUCKING trigger

This is waking up in the morning

And crying because

You’re still alive

But no tears come out

You just make the face and your eyes burn

And you scream inside your head

Then walk downstairs with a smile

Pasted onto your hideous face

And say good morning in this cheery voice

That pisses you off so much


I think you get the idea

This isn’t some beautiful story

About a mental illness healed

By love and kindness

This is about hating yourself

With everything you’ve got

And not being able

To do a single



About it. 

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