February:
2/15/2010
Dear Journal,
You're filled with thoughts.
My thoughts.
I wrote something today and i just raced home to tell you about it. It is a poem. But not any poem because it means everything to me.
"I know how it feels.
To not feel at all.
Waiting for at least an inch of something.
Anything to help you breath once more.
To stretch a smile across your face.
Even though it hurts.
Harming yourself on the outside to kill
the sick and twisted thing growing on the inside.
But simply not being able to.
Pressing cold, hard, metal across your naked skin, hoping that one day you'll have the guts to press down.
You always reach half way.
To look in the mirror and scream at the monster looking back at you.
Face it you'll never be "perfect."
I know the sweet feeling of wanting to die.
Of dreaming about it.
The day that life disappears from your eyes.
To look death right in the eyes screaming "Just take me already!"
I know how it feels to be dead already.
Pretending.
Just pretind to be alive,
with tear filled eyes,
you can no longer hide.
I know."
How dose it feel to heal?
Is it a bed time story? Or. something real?
~ Love,
Ivy howard.
YOU ARE READING
Inside The Mind Of Ivy Howard
Teen FictionA young girl named Ivy Howard whom is seeking for help, but instead of talking to someone she writes all of her problems in a journal, hoping that if anything happens to her someone would stubble upon it and find out the real truth.
