Out Of Order

a home

For every word, I stand for is another word that was already announced and taken by the man on the high chair. Today was not any different and I hate to admit it but maybe this will add onto my many years of pointless rumbling, this may not end up on the words I appointed too but maybe it will but for what?

What other meaning does this have to me other than the actions I solely take act upon to justify every detail I bound to my bloody fist to transact ruthless devotions.

I write for fun but apparently, I forgot how to appreciate something I don't have.  These tall tales mean nothing to me but yet here I am, reading what is not to be said or done.
In conclusion, I will always be nothing.

My meanings twist into knots that killed the mockingbird. I am not supposed to kill something innocent but yet it was something I can take, and that's how it ends.

I take what is given and make it unbearable for other people to question that is already answered.

Why am I still living? No one would ever forget surely but everyone will move on.

And that's when I want to see the world, is whenever I am not around. I want to see how people act on this not so tragic tradition that is so infamous, suicide.

The world is blue and green, not black and white; at least without humans.

I am just one of the unfortunates that follow the perfect society.

To die in fashion and to greed the bearings of sorrows that follow suit.

Fear has grown in my stomach and all that bile eventually makes it out of my mouth, for I am too weak, too lazy, too ugly, too fat, to be mourned for.

Why can I just die?

Dying seems like the sweet taste of summer days, where the mornings are in a dewy haze, the afternoon blazing with ambitious people, and lastly the burning moon that stares in oblivion for it has never experienced love that is not tinged with a bit of Rohypnol —Better off known as "date rape drug"— but of course everything is a bit optimistic.

I shall not share what I think,

For I, a young lady should only fret about boys my age and cry during movie nights over stupid plots.

For I as a person, should just go away.

These days seemed embarrassed by the false sense of security, for you and I saw too much to be quiet.

To be sure that what we saw is not what we wanted to happen but sometimes the truth doesn't work that way.

Nothing works that way and that's why people can't swallow their guilt.

I can swallow the pill without a second thought

I can swallow my tears that run behind unnoticeable eyes because if I do cry, I would be considered as a fool.

The water that runs down my face is like the clothes I try to keep on but yet they just keep falling down without my consent.

For the tissues, I cry in, holds me closer than the people I wanted to behold by.

For the many years of silence that will abide me for who I am.

A
Girl
Who
Has
No
Name.

A
Girl
Who
Has
No
Body
To
Listen
Too

A child with dreams of a better life than the mom who couldn't be there for her, and a dad whose's hand is glued to a phone.

Can I please have something?

Or am I too greedy?

A bratty twisted girl who has lost their way home.