Why try to belong
To something
You have never known?
Distant lands
Unwelcoming arms
I have gone.

hatred met
bitterness
darkness has grown.
Homeless in
a home is her
personal song
singing these truths
writing these wrongs.

Be yourself
Even if that person
Is a stranger
Not owning it
is a far more
Evil danger.

come and get me,
you know you want to,
you stand there and look at me,
staring putting all your hatred in it,
so why do you grow a pair,

come and get me,
you say you will often enough,
whats are words if there is no action behind them,

come and get me you *******,
stop antagonising me,
learn the way of this world and sort your problems out.

come and get me.

You say these spiteful words
(though some say you still love me)
You change into the monster you said
you'd never be,
when you said you'd never hurt me.

But what am I supposed to do
when for the last half-year
its always been
You.
Only you.

And now I'm expected to hold my ground
while you and your friends try
to bury me
Beneath it.
The world has turned
Into the black
Dark
You promised
would stay away from me
This time.

You say these spiteful words
(though some say you still love me)
You change into the monster you said
you'd never be,
when you said you'd never hurt me.

But what am I supposed to do
when for the last half-year
its always been
You.
Only you.

And now I'm expected to hold my ground
while you and your friends try
to bury me
Beneath it.
The world has turned
Into the black
Dark
You promised
would stay away from me
This time.

'This time it'll be different'
You hear a naive
Young girl
say.

Maybe next time'll be different
But not today.

Today
I must learn to stand.
Not fall.
To heal my aching heart.
Not watch it break.

I must learn that there are
Bigger things
In life,
And that just
One loss
Won't- no, shouldn't- shape me for
the rest of my life.
My life is mine,
And yours is out of sight, out of mind.

Something special is dying here.
I'm going against a pattern,
and even though it ends
in my misfortune,
I can't stop. I won't stop.
How do I draw blood from stones
as a miracle whispered through
the tonsils of demons? Simple.
I am a monument.
A testament of free will gone awry.
I'm a mustache twirling antagonist;
I made Christ weep,
and bound his mother
to the railroad tracks.
I know, I know,
that hero is going to save your day,
and I'll be in chains or
in a bottomless hole somewhere,
but let me ask these victims,
"What would the other monument be,
if not for myself?"