(9:31 pm)
I don't expect too much.
I am quite aware that the world is not as perfect as it is said.
But really, all I long to be is to be enough.
I've tried everything, anything, but it simply does not comply.
Between the madness and apathy, the agony and the innumerable flaws, I cannot,
I cannot find a shred of worth within myself.
In my desolate world, I am made of flaws.
My looks, my personality, my words, and my thoughts,
Every single flaw is clearly defined, shrouding me in worthlessness.
I feel a disconsolate feeling overpower any light in my heart.
My mind is incapable of making anything other than negativity.
Everyone says I'll be okay.
But no one knows me better than myself, and I will never be okay.
Scars don't heal, especially the ones buried deep in my soul.
Everyone tells me to hang on.
Hang on to what?
Do I have anything, anyone?
I doubt even the most empathetic people would offer help.
I've tried. I've tried it all.
But I'm never enough.
I'm not a good daughter,
A good friend,
A good student,
A good sister,
Failure has brought my relapse to begin.
And I'm not fighting back.
YOU ARE READING
We've Come a Long Way, My Friend.
PoetryThere will be content including suicide, self-harm, depression, anxiety, schizophrenic symptoms, isolation, paranoia, and other topics that viewers may find triggering. Viewer discretion is advised. These poems will all be written by me. They're ba...
