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Literature Text
Have you ever cried yourself to sleep?
And if someone asked you that,
how would you answer?
Truth be told, I used to -
Just lie in bed and think,
think about every single thing
and how I felt about it...
what it meant to me.
But I'll just say no,
because I don't want you to know
about how weak I am.
And it is when all is silent,
the tears will slide slowly,
soaking your pillow.
Like a movie,
the scene plays out in your head
of all those times when you were
bullied, hurt,
damaged and broken.
Replayed and replayed until
all the images end up blur and disjointed.
Have you ever cried yourself to sleep?
Yes, I have - many times, in fact.
But I'll just say no
because you're my friend
and if I were to tell you,
it would be the end.
And if someone asked you that,
how would you answer?
Truth be told, I used to -
Just lie in bed and think,
think about every single thing
and how I felt about it...
what it meant to me.
But I'll just say no,
because I don't want you to know
about how weak I am.
And it is when all is silent,
the tears will slide slowly,
soaking your pillow.
Like a movie,
the scene plays out in your head
of all those times when you were
bullied, hurt,
damaged and broken.
Replayed and replayed until
all the images end up blur and disjointed.
Have you ever cried yourself to sleep?
Yes, I have - many times, in fact.
But I'll just say no
because you're my friend
and if I were to tell you,
it would be the end.
Literature
Caged
I am the bird,
trapped in your cage.
I cower inside,
terrified by your rage.
Please let me out.
I need to take flight.
The wind in my feathers,
smiling in the light,
but you won't let me out.
You laugh at my cry,
if you will not free me,
please let me die.
I cannot go on this way,
drowning in fear,
day after day,
year after year,
but you don't have the mercy,
don't have the grace.
You laugh as I scream,
a smile on your face.
Fine, be that way,
cruel and cold,
but I'm sick of playing,
your games gotten old.
I scratch at your hand.
Free! I fly straight ahead.
A window unopen,
thump! Your bird is dead.
You cry out,
but you can't hurt me.
Literature
Awareness.
She writes such lovely poems
But nobody really cares
She hides them all the time
To avoid the judging stares
She wrote one yesterday
About a boy who said he loved her
But to her own dismay
She caught him with another
She wrote one about school
And the words painted on her locker
“No one likes you, stupid bitch.
You’re lucky I’m at soccer.”
She wrote about her parents
And how she wished they were together
But she knows that won’t ever happen
And forgetting’s probably better
Yes, she writes such lovely poems
But there’s so much more to this
See, her pencil is a razor
And the paper is her wrist.
Literature
I Met Me
Today I met a girl,
and she asked, "How are you?"
"Just fine," I replied.
She said, "No, tell me what's true."
Perplexed, I stopped and stared.
She was young, no older than eight.
Her eyes were still innocent.
They knew no hate.
"What did you say?"
I asked in confusion.
"You know what I mean," she said.
This girl was in a delusion.
Trying to be kind,I replied,
"No I do not."
She frowned and replied,
"You lie quite a lot."
Now I was agitated.
What does this girl know?
Acting like she's so intelligent.
I'll just tell her to go.
"Let me explain!"
She exclaimed in haste.
"I know you're not alright.
I know you feel misplaced."
What?
How in
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Saw a submission from DeviantArtSecret and this happened.
© 2013 - 2024 therealanonymous
Comments19
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This makes me cry because it's like you know exactly what happened to me. This is exactly how I feel. Thank you!