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i'm not good with words
and that's no secret
i get lost in my head
planning out every mistake
every stutter
every pause.
i spend an hour debating
waiting
and it causes more grief.

they put a label on me.

they say i'm shy
they say i'm sad
they say i have anxiety
and sure, that might be true
dose me on pills to get me under control
to get me normal
but no one ever tells you
of the pain that comes

you get addicted
you don't want to take them anymore
you need to take them now.
you need to take them to avoid the words
to avoid the names
to avoid the judgement that comes
when you just turn a teen.

when you get to this age you are in a stand still.
a downhill avalanche that you can't escape
that is destined to crush you
suffocate you
hurt you until
until you can't take it anymore.
until you break
cry
and scream.

with all this pain
comes the issues
the tears and the breakdowns
more labels
labels.
they plaster them like
post it notes onto
my forehead as if
i'm just some book that
they have to analyse
and break down piece
by piece
for an assignment.

but no one believes.

because of what kids are doing
what they are saying
how they are acting
no one believes you when you say

"i'm depressed"

they call you horrible things
a few, "slag"
"whore"
they whisper you're seeking attention
they say you're fake
shoot you nasty glares across the classroom.
your parents laugh and shrug it off
scream at you for lying
they tell you that old
stupid rhyme...

you know the one i'm on about.
the one about sticks and stones
breaking your bones

how that hurts more than words
full of venom and hate
being thrown at you constantly
for your choices
your mistakes
your failures
and things out of your control.
you can't tell a child
that a broken heart hurts less than broken bones

broken bones heal easier
than a broken heart
scarred and damaged
because scars don't heal.
they fade, sure
sure, they slowly begin to disappear
but they cloud your mind
reminding you you're not perfect
you'll never be perfect
nobody likes you
everyone is talking about you
you're damaged
broken
unlovable
unrepairable

and then the confusion
of who you are
who people want you to be
who people will hate you for
and you figure out that
you don't wanna be you anymore
you wanna be the opposite
you want a short haircut
top surgery
they label you.

again.

now you're a tranny.
you're mentally screwed
you're better off dead
you don't exist
and you can't tell anyone
cause you're afraid

you've always been afraid
afraid of your family
afraid of your issues
afraid of your labels
afraid of your friends

so it's no different now

pack it up
hide it in
disappear
from the crowd
and the faces
of those who once
liked you

because now
you're glued to your bed
convinced they hate your guts
they only pretend
thats all anyone does.
pretend.
fake.

but don't worry about it
maybe if you keep telling yourself
that you're fine
that you're ok
you're not broken
you're not stupid
you're fine.
maybe if you keep telling yourself
all those things
they'll be true one day

one day you won't be high
on pills of medications
you won't be crying everynight
because you won't be bottling up all of your emotions

you'll be ok.

but it's waiting for that day
when you can say
that you're ok
so for now you can lay
in my arms, in your bed for the day.