Oh, God I miss it all.


I miss the poetry I have saved in Texas. I miss the writings I had down in my journals. Most of all I miss the walls in my room, all written on and scared by my troubled sides. I miss the nights I spent with my friends talking on the back porch. I miss the music I had written down, the lyrics that could melt a dead man's heart.


Oh, God I miss it.

You see, I moved here by myself after a suicide attempt. I tried to cut my wrists because life was... beyond reasoning. And right now I just feel like doing it again. I just miss it all. I look at the poetry on here and I long to put up the writings I had, put them here for you all to see. I have so little here because all I was allowed to take with me was two suitcases and a pillow. Barely enough room for some clothes and my little cousin's birthday present. I got on the plane, came here, and yeah. All of my poetry is either on the internet, lost, in books and journals my abusive uncle and granmother have pawed through already, or in my head and not yet written.


oh, God I miss it.

I miss the pool I had and the friends I could call at three in the morning to keep me from hanging myself. I miss them all, I miss it all. And might I ask what God has done?

-Taken my hero and brother from me
-put me through the fire and beyond broken me
-turned his back on me
-been silent when I screamed for mercy and assurance.
-Bullshitted his way through my life so I was the perfect little angel since I was a child
-Allowed numerous types of abuse to fall on me throughout my life while I kept it all secret.
-kicked me when I was down
-zxjkhdjf glvgsgdfkjgbs dhfg

God, I don't know anymore. I don't fucking know.


Someone tell me this is going to be alright. Someone tell me it's okay that I'm crying and can hardly see the screen right now.s

Tell me i'm going to make it through this tell me i will survive this likee i did everything else

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