My Little Machine

One little thing.

Plastic, and

Glass, and

Wires, and

Rubber;

My little machine.

It buzzes and 

Beeps,

And tells me who likes

What,

And what time to wake up,

What day it is,

The weather tomorrow,

For the whole week…

My little machine.

It takes little pictures,

And sends little messages,

And drives me a little crazy.

It tells me when friends have

Ignored me,

And sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes it makes me

Worry,

That I’m not pretty enough,

With likes and favourites and ‘thumbs up’.

Sometimes it makes me jealous,

Of others romances and friendships

And lives.

Of their beauty and their personalities,

Their jokes and their families and themselves.

My little machine.

It makes me think I’m not loved,

Or I’ve lost a friend when I don’t hear from them.

It makes me impatient,

And angry.

Frustrated.

Scared.

Lonely.

My little machine.

My fucking little machine.

Always with me,

For safety and entertainment,

Music and photos and 

Conversation.

Always,

With my little

Fucking

Machine.

Surviving

Keep your chin up.
Think happy thoughts.
Cheer up, kid.
It’ll be okay.
You’ll live.
It’s not as bad as it seems.
It’ll get better.
You’ll survive.
It could be worse.
But…
How?
Life is scary,
And when you get scared
Of life;
What do you do?
Everyone tells you to
Stay
Positive.
But they don’t know,
Do they?
They’re not
You.
They don’t understand
Everything
You tell them.
Just like you…
They’re trying to survive.
To
Think
Positive.
Survive.
It’s different for everyone,
Which makes it that much more
Difficult:
To
Understand.
So just keep your chin up.
It’ll get better,
Someday.
You’ll survive,
Because that’s all we’re good for.
Surviving.

Happy Birthday

I think the worst thing is having to celebrate another person’s birthday on your actual birthday. 

Because you aren’t the popular one.

So your friends wouldn’t have come to your party.

And that would probably be worse.

Because you can pretend that their party is for you.

And you know it will be better than anything you would do for your own birthday.

And maybe they’re not singing your name.

And the cake’s not your favourite flavour.

And no one actually knows it’s your birthday.

But at least you’re not alone.

At least your friends are there.

Maybe not for you.

But.

You can pretend.

Enthusiasm

Don’t try so hard.

Everyone says it 

At some point.

To someone, just for

Trying.

Don’t try too hard to

Fit in.

The more you care,

The worse off you’ll be.

We lose our passions

And our dreams,

For the sake of being

Accepted.

You shouldn’t be happier

Than everyone else,

Or angrier,

Or sadder.

Don’t put too much energy

Into your lives;

You’re trying too hard.

And the entire point now,

Is that you’re just 

Trying.

You’re not

Succeeding.

Enthusiasm is old,

Overdone.

Don’t try so hard,

You’re only making a

Fool

Of yourself.

So let me lose my drive,

My will power and 

Excitement.

Because I wouldn’t want

To look ridiculous,

In addition,

To just 

Trying.

The Hurt

I’d rather hurt,

Than hurt others.

The pain is a consequence,

To remind me to never 

Hurt

A human being again.

But it is also a 

Solution.

So long as I hurt,

Others will not.

If I suffer,

Then maybe I can

Save

Someone else,

From this 

Pain.

I’d rather it be me,

Than someone else.

Because everyone else is

Better,

And more important,

Than me.

Their feelings and emotions,

Mean more to me,

Than anything 

I could

Feel.

I’d rather hurt myself,

Than let someone else 

Be hurt.

I Wanted to Be a Boy

I always wanted to be a boy.

It meant peeing standing up,

And being the funny one in class.

Being a boy meant I could

Wear whatever I wanted,

Eat as much food as I liked

And not be condemned for it.

I always wanted to be a boy;

Because I wouldn’t have to wear makeup,

Or a pair of shorts under my dress.

Because I could walk home alone at night

And not be afraid of the shadows.

It meant that I could burp in front of everyone,

To the sound of applause instead of shock.

Being a boy,

To me,

Was a solution to everything that was wrong in my life.

It was the idea that,

If I were a boy,

I would be strong.

I could overpower whoever I wanted,

And getting in trouble gave me popularity.

I could sleep with whoever I wanted,

And be respected for it.

I could have problems with mental health,

And not be told I just want attention.

I always wanted to be a boy,

Because it seemed so much better,

Than being a girl.

A stupid,

Slutty,

Flirty,

Air-headed,

Giggly,

Fake

Girl.