Life Story
Day by day torture,
From myself and others.
I remember when I was six,
I was so cute and loving.
I wanted to be like my dad,
And grow up to be a mommy.
But each day seemed to change me,
And I drifted away.
As I got older,
I saw the pretty girls so happy with themselves.
I wanted to be them,
I wanted to be everything they were.
I attemped each time and it came out wrong,
Something was wrong with me.
I'm ugly.
I'm fat.
I'm annoying.
I'm stupid.
I'm a whore.
I'm a bitch.
I'm not right.
By the time I was eleven,
I knew how to puke.
I carried around mints like they were nessisary.
I figured out how to be skinny,
But I was never skinny enough.
I sucked in everytime I walked,
And covered my stomach everytime I sat.
I was on the right track.
When I was turning twelve,
I figured out make up was needed.
I put so much shit on my face,
I wanted to be pretty.
Eventually, I turned twelve.
And at that point I was so ashamed of myself.
Of how fucking ugly I really was.
I started cutting myself,
Getting out anger and pain that I always hid.
I hid it with shirts, bracelets, boots, and socks.
I'd coverup every part of my body possible.
I didn't want to be seen.
I wasn't good enough to be noticed.
I got my first boyfriend,
And so constantly needed attention.
I flirted more and more with other guys,
And girls.
I constantly needed an arm around me,
Someoone to love me,
Otherwise I felt incomplete and not good enough.
I was called a whore every second someone got the chance.
I cried every night,
And cut every day.
I puked every time I ate.
My boyfriend dumped me,
I became suicidal.
My parents put me in therapy,
And I felt like a screw up.
I was going insane,
Being so paranoid.
I put down the razor,
It wasn't a toy.
I was stupid to begin with,
There's no one like me.
So I stopped puking,
Because I was never ugly.
But by the time I turned thirteen,
I had a new boyfriend.
He went to juvy that month,
And I missed him and the attention.
I stumbled apon drugs,
And it became addictive.
My parent's didn't notice,
My brother ignored me.
My best friend loved it too,
Soon she was like an old me.
A cutter with the love of risking everything.
I couldn't do anything with my life,
Except fuck it up.
I tried to give up everything I ever did.
I tried to stop being so stupid.
But nothing helped.
Now I'm depressed,
With a pinch of suicide tattooed on my body.
My brains got no good cells,
Because I threw them all away.
I fucked up a lot with the drugs.
Cutting.
And puking.
I gave it all up,
Because I couldn't keep going downhill at this rate.
It was killing me, and making it worse.
It was day by day torture,
Inflicted by myself.
From myself and others.
I remember when I was six,
I was so cute and loving.
I wanted to be like my dad,
And grow up to be a mommy.
But each day seemed to change me,
And I drifted away.
As I got older,
I saw the pretty girls so happy with themselves.
I wanted to be them,
I wanted to be everything they were.
I attemped each time and it came out wrong,
Something was wrong with me.
I'm ugly.
I'm fat.
I'm annoying.
I'm stupid.
I'm a whore.
I'm a bitch.
I'm not right.
By the time I was eleven,
I knew how to puke.
I carried around mints like they were nessisary.
I figured out how to be skinny,
But I was never skinny enough.
I sucked in everytime I walked,
And covered my stomach everytime I sat.
I was on the right track.
When I was turning twelve,
I figured out make up was needed.
I put so much shit on my face,
I wanted to be pretty.
Eventually, I turned twelve.
And at that point I was so ashamed of myself.
Of how fucking ugly I really was.
I started cutting myself,
Getting out anger and pain that I always hid.
I hid it with shirts, bracelets, boots, and socks.
I'd coverup every part of my body possible.
I didn't want to be seen.
I wasn't good enough to be noticed.
I got my first boyfriend,
And so constantly needed attention.
I flirted more and more with other guys,
And girls.
I constantly needed an arm around me,
Someoone to love me,
Otherwise I felt incomplete and not good enough.
I was called a whore every second someone got the chance.
I cried every night,
And cut every day.
I puked every time I ate.
My boyfriend dumped me,
I became suicidal.
My parents put me in therapy,
And I felt like a screw up.
I was going insane,
Being so paranoid.
I put down the razor,
It wasn't a toy.
I was stupid to begin with,
There's no one like me.
So I stopped puking,
Because I was never ugly.
But by the time I turned thirteen,
I had a new boyfriend.
He went to juvy that month,
And I missed him and the attention.
I stumbled apon drugs,
And it became addictive.
My parent's didn't notice,
My brother ignored me.
My best friend loved it too,
Soon she was like an old me.
A cutter with the love of risking everything.
I couldn't do anything with my life,
Except fuck it up.
I tried to give up everything I ever did.
I tried to stop being so stupid.
But nothing helped.
Now I'm depressed,
With a pinch of suicide tattooed on my body.
My brains got no good cells,
Because I threw them all away.
I fucked up a lot with the drugs.
Cutting.
And puking.
I gave it all up,
Because I couldn't keep going downhill at this rate.
It was killing me, and making it worse.
It was day by day torture,
Inflicted by myself.