I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown
Who worked in a circus that came through town.
His shoes were too big and his hat was too small,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes,
He had a green dog and a thousand balloons.
He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
And every time he did a trick,
Everyone felt a little sick.
And every time he told a joke,
Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.
And every time he lost a shoe,
Everyone looked awfully blue.
And every time he stood on his head,
Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!"
And every time he made a leap,
Everybody fell asleep.
And every time he ate his tie,
Everyone began to cry.
And Cloony could not make any money
Simply because he was not funny.
One day he said, "I'll tell this town
How it feels to be an unfunny clown."
And he told them all why he looked so sad,
And he told them all why he felt so bad.
He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,
He told of Darkness in his soul,
And after he finished his tale of woe,
Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,
They laughed until they shook the trees
With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees."
They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,
They laughed all day, they laughed all week,
They laughed until they had a fit,
They laughed until their jackets split.
The laughter spread for miles around
To every city, every town,
Over mountains, 'cross the sea,
From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.
And soon the whole world rang with laughter,
Lasting till forever after,
While Cloony stood in the circus tent,
With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.
And he said,"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT -
I'M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT."
And while the world laughed outside.
Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.

593

I think I was enchanted
When first a sombre Girl—
I read that Foreign Lady—
The Dark—felt beautiful—

And whether it was noon at night—
Or only Heaven—at Noon—
For very Lunacy of Light
I had not power to tell—

The Bees—became as Butterflies—
The Butterflies—as Swans—
Approached—and spurned the narrow Grass—
And just the meanest Tunes

That Nature murmured to herself
To keep herself in Cheer—
I took for Giants—practising
Titanic Opera—

The Days—to Mighty Metres stept—
The Homeliest—adorned
As if unto a Jubilee
’Twere suddenly confirmed—

I could not have defined the change—
Conversion of the Mind
Like Sanctifying in the Soul—
Is witnessed—not explained—

’Twas a Divine Insanity—
The Danger to be Sane
Should I again experience—
’Tis Antidote to turn—

To Tomes of solid Witchcraft—
Magicians be asleep—
But Magic—hath an Element
Like Deity—to keep—

I know it's tough. But the easiest choice isn't always the best one. Don't let her make you weak. There's no way she'll ever get better. She says what she wants you to hear and sounds like she means it, but in reality she's incapable of keeping her word. You need to move on. I'm here for you. I love you.

17 is such an unsure number.
Not quite 15 but not quite 20.
Not quite anything.
Lumpy, awkward,
Boring, confusing.
17. Is. Such.
An. Unsure. Number.

and as much as they say not to romanticize depression, there's something beautiful about the way her sobs escape her mouth when all she wants to do is escape reality, jealous of her tears for being on their path to newfound freedom. there's something ******* poetic about the trail they make down her cheek, pale from spending endless days indoors too afraid to face the sunshine when all she sees is the moon. it's magical how her heart can literally feel the shattered fragments of lives left behind, tearing her apart completely from the inside out. she sits alone, troubled by never being pretty enough, while true beauty surrounds her. true. *******. beauty.

I'm like a wilting daisy, too tragically beautiful for anyone to pick.

i wish i could be beautiful without having to change my hair or my face or my clothes or my weight. i wish i could focus on the year to year, not the day to day. i wish i could look in the mirror and smile instead of picking at "problem areas" and wanting to smash it and cry and fall apart like the fragmented reflections on the ground. i wish i could be loved for me. i wish i could be happy.