Imy, 15 from the UK
I post things that could be considered triggering
“If you cut me open you won’t find constellations swirling under my skin.
You won’t find a galaxy resting on my tongue
Or fires waiting to ignite beneath my fingertips.
Instead of supernovas or forest fires
what you’ll find even before you break skin
will be the smell of axe and a flower garden.
You’ll find traces of the scents lingering on my hands and on my neck.
It’ll be smell of the girl who loves everyone and everything with a fierce passion, but doesn’t love herself at all.
Then the skin will break and the blood that I have spilt on the dark days full of gloom and despair and sunlight will flow freely from the body who knows a blade far too well.
The blood will flow and spell out my secrets on your white bed sheets before pooling.
Trust me when I tell you it’ll take months to wash out that crimson red.
You’ll see muscles in my arms and legs are worn out.
And that’ll be because they work tirelessly every single day to try and please everyone around me, but somehow wearing myself down, never seems to be good enough.
You’ll see how the ones in my fingers are worn out
And It’ll be from the poems that I stay up until 4am to write.
Because the depression that slowly eats away at my insides,
Will not let me sleep.
Then behind what looks like a cage
you will find the strongest muscle.
the one that will decide if it wants you to live or die.
A muscles whose only job is to keep your body functioning.
The muscle will be torn and worn.
it will be bruised and battered.
from all the wars it has waged
and all the trauma it has endured.
But even after all the muscle has been through;
Heartbreak, harsh words, and a bottle of pills,
That despite my best efforts to get it to stop
Somehow it still continues to beat.
And when you carve out the muscle and tissue eventually you’ll hit bones.
And on them you will see all the words ever thrown and spit at me, are carved into all of them.
You will be left wondering exactly how it is possible to bruise such a hard object.
So you won’t find a world on fire hidden behind my rib cage
You won’t see collapsed buildings or burnt out stars
And especially not and ocean of despair.
Because I’m not a vast emptiness of your so called beauty!
I am blood and muscle!
I am pain and scars!
I am a collective of all the battles I have fought and
All the wars I have yet to win.
I am not a girl your poetry can consume and construct
I am a girl born of blood and shit
I have survived things you can’t even begin to imagine!
But I am not a summers day, and I am not the moon or the stars
I am a person whose heart beats for the sole intention of keeping this body alive. and not to be the headline of your next poem.
I am a person made up of bone and tissue and scars and memories.
But one thing I am not,
is a metaphor.”
It’s you. It’s been you for the past 486 days. Since the moment I met you. It’s you at 2 in the morning or 4 in the afternoon. It’s you when I’m sleeping and studying and eating and laughing. You are everywhere and you are everything.
i don’t want to date any boys i just want to make them all wish they were dating me
i have this crazy urge to txt you cause i miss you so much but then i remember you probably don’t miss me at all.
So I can either bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute.
nick nO THAT’S NOT HOW YOU BAKE COOKIES FRIEND
HOW ABOUT 4,000,000 DEGREES FOR 1 SECOND
NICK YOU ARE GOING TO BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN
I’M GOING TO HARNESS THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES
NICK P L E A S E
I remember once, you told me you loved me. And in that moment; I didn’t know if you meant it or had said it so many times that it became a habit.
But it was in that moment that I knew I loved you too.
Hey so IF we have a MUTUAL follow goin on, feel free to ask for my
- cellular number
- first born
you know, anything you want
I think girls gotta realise that guys don’t give a fuck about eyebrows, majority of girls that try to draw on their eyebrows just make them look worse.
boys gotta realize that girls don’t exist to appease them
I like how you have ‘feminist’ in your description
i like how that was supposed to be a dig because it was weak as hell
Everyone loves to point
At my generation and say
“Look at them,
They’re so fucked up:
Children are slashing their wrists
And parents find bodies
in every room.
They hide behind screens
And drive each other insane.
What monsters are these?
Who could foresee
An entire generation
Turning out so horribly wrong.”
But nobody ever
Looks at each other
And questions how they
could raise a generation
Who slashes their own wrists
And take their own lives
And say awful things
To push each other
closer and closer
to the brink of death.
Nobody questions that
maybe the problem
Is not just the children
But rather, the parents
Who looked past the scars
And sought excellence
Yet never preached
Because who wants
to blame themselves
for a generation’s problems
When they could look
at mere children
and call them monsters
Instead of son and daughter.