Third Person

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sneak peek of my life in third person.
Please leave comments; I love to improve my writing.
I haven't written in a while though, so here you go everyone.

Submitted: April 29, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 29, 2013



She has a disease that is not usually apparent

And when it is visible to others, they care not
Foolish beings only care for themselves
It is to survive; caring will only bring one down


But she still cares for others despite their lack of recognition

Of her own grievous problems; she is already so far into the abyss
And her feeble attempts at helping others sink her lower

She doesn’t care though; because they matter more than she


The poor girl copes with harsher cigarettes
And burning her skin with their ashes

Yet she still cries throughout the day and night

Though they (her “friends”) still do not notice


The only one that listens is her little furred companion

Even though her cat does not comment on anything
And probably only stays for adoration and nourishment

Which is understandable; survival comes into play once again


Her mother is in the hospital, sick and in need of attention

And her sister goes out all day and night to avoid confrontation with
Her father because he screams and demeans the young girl for nothing

That girl cannot take this on top of everything else; it hurts


To add, her lover lives a ways away

They used to spend most of their time talking (or at least texting)
But now he has work and is unable to devote his loving time

So she is just alone in near blackness


If that wasn’t enough, there is more

The souls roaming her mind attack her with verbal insults as well

And she fears when they take over her body

To wreak havoc on those she loves (though they do not seem to love her)


Her psychiatrist never bothers listening to even a word

Continuously giving her the same dose of medication that no longer helps

They did not help much in the first place, but at least it did a little, no?

And her counselor is nice but still is forgetful to do things that would help


It doesn’t help that people at school attack her for everything as well

Making fun both behind her back and right in front of her face

Not to mention some of her teachers do the same (though less obviously)

So she has nowhere to run for escape; there is no “safe house”


The piteous girl is stuck in her hellish world in secrecy

Fearful of many things; particularly being locked in a psyche ward

As is often suggested without even mentioning the majority of her pathetic existence

So she keeps bottling everything inside until she explodes (frequently) throughout the day

© Copyright 2017 Unselflove. All rights reserved.

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