innocence
from when i was young
trusting
mentally stable
and what some queers may call
"an egg".

innocence
from before we were friends
when i was treated right
kindly
and what some may call
"not like ****".

innocence
from when things felt real
all the time
i could hear things right
i could see
no confusion
or as some may call it
"i wasn't insane".

i miss my innocence
because now
i need it more than ever

i dont know
if im going through a depressive episode
a suicidal episode
a dissociative episode
a derealization episode
a depersonalization episode
a psychotic episode
a sociopathic episode
or something else
but something is definitely wrong

My grandma thinks I'm a tomboy
Her words, not mine
My ex best friend thinks I'm a liar
Her words, not mine
My mom thinks I'm a faker
Her words, not mine
One of my bullies thinks I'm a fat pig
Her words, not mine
My "friend" thinks I'm annoying
Her words, not mine
My sister thinks I'm an *******
Her words, not mine

Man... the women in my life aren't the best, are they?

the thing about self harm
is that a lot of the time
it isn't a choice
because it's an addiction
a habit
a coping strategy
so next time you see someone
with cuts on their arms
take it from someone who was (and still am) bullied.
ask them if they are okay
don't judge like the others did
be their friend
and help them
because
as an addict myself
i can confirm
we need help
but we don't want it
we want to get better
but we don't
and i don't speak for everyone
but this is how i see it
it's not always a choice
not a decision
but a habit
and trust me
old habits die hard

there is knife
on the table
next to me
i'm home alone

988 wont help
neither will my parents
or my friends
or even my dog
they cant help

i'm crying
i need help
but i cant reach for my phone
or the knife
is this good?
or bad

to all my friends
who would never miss me
*******
but to you
my friend
i hope that you
can live a happy life
without me
without knives

so take this poem
as a gift
to keep going
to keep going strong
cause even if i am gone
you arent

the knife is in my hand
glancing at my wrist
i cant do it
but i have too
so goodbye
cruel world
i must go

but whats this?
a light?
i am still in fear
the knife trembling
blood- no
tears
dripping off the blade

and i collapse
and die inside
because nobody cares
but i cant force myself to leave
just like those toxic friends
relationships
people
thats just what life is

but you have to keep going
going and going and going
until you find a true purpose
because harming
or killing
yourself
just stops you from recognizing the problem
just avoiding it

so to anyone who wants-
who needs
to hurt, or **** themselves
just face the problem head on
even if you cant do it
even if you have tried before
it's still worth it

I feel like I am falling
And floating
At the same time
I look down on my hands
And they look like a strangers
I speak
And an unfamiliar voice escapes
I look in a mirror
That's not me

The streetlights turn on
Grayscale
And yellow
And humming
At the same time
People walk by
Their voices muffled
And blended
And tossed around

I'm not real
But they are
They aren't real
But I am
What is happening

The world is going to fast
But standing still
At the same time

My eye twitches
But these eyes aren't mine
I am watching myself
As if I'm a character in a movie
I watch my eye twitch

Who is in the mirror?
It's not me
Just a ghost
A spirit who never got to exist

The lights flicker
In a pitch dark room
The silence
Is so loud
It pierces my ears
I shriek
In a voice
That never was mine
And never will be
I really hope this isn't real

Last years thanksgiving
Was very different than this one
Heres how it went last year

I ate
Without a second thought
I ate so much food
I talked with
my grandparents
No arguements to be had
And then
I went to bed
After 5 minutes
of shutting my eyes

Here's how It went this year

I ate
Two pieces of pasta
I got as drunk as one could
Off of carbonated apple juice
I flipped my grandparents off
After calling me miss
She
Her
deadname
And a transphobic slur
We got into an arguement
Mostly about trump
And then I went downstairs
To draw vent art
Text my friends
And write poetry
All while drowning in a panic attack
And feeling like nothing is real

Isn't it strange
how fast things can change
In just a year?