someone once asked me who i am.
i thought for a minute and could not reply.
much to my surprise i did not even know me,
me who thought i know everything.
but who could know anything, if they don’t know them self?
so i thought long and hard and this is what i found...
i am
just a girl.
trying to get through life
to whom everything bad seems to happen.
whose life is so impossible
that she doesn’t know what to do.
who keeps everything inside of her and
tries to keep people out.
who to everyone else is happy,
and vibrant, and thriving, and pretty.
who has no real friends,
though they think that they are.
who wants so hard to believe in something she knows is there,
but doesn’t seem real because of what she has been through.
a girl who likes to take walks in the rain.
who reads in the woods,
who enjoys being alone.
who hates the feeling of being left out, but
doesn’t feel comfortable being in the crowd.
who feels isolated and separate
and wants to heal herself so she will be normal,
but doesn’t know how.
who reopens her wounds in the dark.
who is scared to sleep
because she doesn’t know what she'll dream.
who's scared to think too deep,
for fear of what’s left below.
to whom the past is lost forever.
whose past seems like one big lie.
whose tears are unheard,
whose scars are not seen,
whose tortured screams are lost in the wind.
who just wants something real.
 
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