They call me Depressed,
Weak,
Alone.
But I call myself
Me.
They call me Cutter,
Stupid,
Afraid.
But I call myself a magician.
They ask why,
I say because my skin was a natural color,
I say that the wand,
Was silver.
But with the magic words,
They all turned red.
YOU ARE READING
Depressing Poems
PoetryMy thoughts. My words. MUST ASK FOR PERMISSION TO USE. Warning- these are sad and may be triggering. Read with caution
