Awareness.She writes such lovely poemsBut nobody really caresShe hides them all the timeTo avoid the judging staresShe wrote one yesterdayAbout a boy who said he loved herBut to her own dismayShe caught him with anotherShe wrote one about schoolAnd the words painted on her locker“No one likes you, stupid bitch.You’re lucky I’m at soccer.”She wrote about her parentsAnd how she wished they were togetherBut she knows that won’t ever happenAnd forgetting’s probably betterYes, she writes such lovely poemsBut there’s so much more to thisSee, her pencil is a razorAnd the paper is her wrist.
Beautiful.They say I’m beautifulBecause of the way my crystalline heart reflects light off its fractured surfaceWell, that isn't a reflectionIt’s rejection of the light because it’s all too much to handleThrow myself away into the dark without even a candle‘Cause I don’t want to recognize all the pain I’m inOr realize the truth behind what I am or who I've beenAnd I tried to make things right but I just keep on making wrongI never listened to the angel on my shoulder when she calledI count my tears like they’re experienceAnd my scars like they’re mysteriousAnd that’s a feeling I’ll remember –Watching as you leftWatching as you ended what was meant to be foreverAnd I can see it in their eyes; everyone can empathizeSo they say that I’m beautiful because they don’t know what else to say.But if being broken is beautiful, then it’s the ugliest way...
Locked and LoadedI am broken. I’m a waste.Tell me something I don’t knowSay it to my faceYou think you know me better‘Cause of things you don’t rememberYou’re trying to make me hurtMy self-esteem’s in the dirtPick out all my flaws and laugh at every oneI’m just a stubborn kid with a loaded gunIn the middle of the desertTaking shots at the sunBut my body is the M16My mouth is the triggerMy lungs; the magazineAnd if you can’t already seeI’m about readyTo go on a killing spreeIf you can’t shut up long enoughTo hear what I have to sayThen I’m locked and loadedHave a nice day.
Love Me.She falls asleep most every nightTo the sound of her parents pointless fightAnd clinging tightly to her tear soaked pillowShe goes to school most every dayWishing she could run awayFrom all those who torture herFor not being ‘cool’Her mother, she just plain ignores herHer father’s never even thereWho would notice if she were gone?Who would even care?She just wants to make it quickTo take this razor as her friendAnd feel its tender loving kissPressed against her paper skinShe just wants to make it stopThe feeling lonely, sad and hatedShe holds the blade up to eye levelI don’t know how long she waitedShe presses hard against her skinAnd lines of ink bleed from the penThe blade, it rests there on her kneeOn her arm she wrote“Love me...”
My Mind Is A Graveyard And My Body Is A Scar.There’s constantly something wrong with meI can’t look in the mirror for fear I’ll seeAnother part of me that I can’t let beI want to cut it out of my soulAnd just live with the gaping holeTake control and choose to loseThe part of my heart where the insides bruisedI didn’t fall; I was caught by the lonely, crushing darknessOf this I’m sure; it was there more than you ever wereI don’t know why the love I needIs flowing in the blood I bleedYes, I’m confused and, yes, I’m a messFrustrations magnified by stressI don’t know why I pushed so farNew cuts cover where the old ones areMy scars are scarred, my heart’s in shardsI’m breaking down like a house of cardsI fell already blind into decimating blacknessAnd used what I could find of my heart as target practice
What I Can't EraseLike the gnarled roots of an old decaying treeI’m twisted and confused, tired of being meOn the surface I am strong, abrasively calm, and readyBut underneath it all I’m weak, wrong, and unsteadyI shudder at the wind; tell tale of death’s bringerI feel the chill upon my spine; forever it seems to lingerNow is not the time for cleansing wounds of past battlesWorse is lurking just beyond the howling darkness of the shadowsThere isn't much that I can do against an army borne of fearEvery nightmare, all my demons, they’re all assembled hereThey’re everything that I’m ashamed to say is part of meThe ugly truth behind my eyes no one should ever seeAnd if I held my ground would it be too much to face?Or should I just ignore what I know I can’t erase?
It Isn't Wrong...I used your words to form an apologyBecause I didn’t know another wayTo make you acknowledge meBut I’m still here, you knowAs much as I was a year agoI’m going in blind and taking shots in the darkBut I’m pulling every word from the bottom of my heartI’ve had a lot of time to see things straightYou’re someone that I love, that I could never hateThat’s why every time I tried forgetting about youI couldn’t force myself to do what I had to doNow I can see your pain, I’m sorry I put you through itIf there was one thing I could changeYou know that I would undo itI don’t want to live, I don’t want to breatheThe reason we’re like this is all because of meI don’t want you to be yet another closing doorYou think I could care less, darling, I couldn’t care moreTake away from this all the evidence you needI miss you just as much as you say you miss meI want this forced silence to come to
The Truth (And The Lie)I'm br(OK)en, really.
Coming BackYou looked at me with sunset eyesTeeming with an ocean’s depthWaves were crashing down your cheeksTears you should have never weptAnd I heard a sound I’ll not forgetThe slamming front door as you leftIn shock I waited as tragedy unfurledDenial settled into the silence of my worldWithout a glance or shallow sighYou left me here with no goodbyeBut in my heart there grew an acheA pain that, most nights, keeps me awakeAnd now I finally realizeWhat I saw in those shining eyesNot the sunset; the sunriseSo this was never a goodbyeNo…This was letting go.And now I’m coming back.
Never Bow Down. (Failure In Denial)Your poisoned words are your weapon of choice,Paralyzing me with just the sound of your voice.Whispering your lies and getting under my skin,But I can see right through you 'cause you're so paper thin!Are you really so heartless?Behind your lies is there any truth?Can you tell I don't want this!?I will never bow down to you!You say across my skin is where my short comings compile,And that my scars remind you I'm a failure in denial!No matter what you've always had the upper hand,Holding me under for reasons none understand!GOD DAMN!!Are you really so heartless?Behind your lies is there any truth?Can you tell I don't want this!?And that I'll never Bow Down
The Righteous Are LiarsThe Righteous Are Liars:I find it funny, at times,In this reality, of mine.When the heroes fall and demons rise.In the fight for freedom, filled with lies.But such is the nature of the templar divine.With righteous chains, they'll keep us in line.Afraid to face the true demon he fears.He'll punishes the public, for their rightful jeers.And thus ends the "hero's" tale...-Chen Yuan Wen, 3rd November 2013
Silly GirlSilly girl,Whose eyes rain crystals,Why do you wish to heal?Do you not understand the beautyOf your ability to feel?Silly girl,Whose grin’s so bright,Why do you wish to change?A soul with no emotionWould appear to be quite strange.Silly girl,Whose face is dull,Why do you live this myth?You choose to be a shadow,Smashing daisies with your fist.Silly girl,With wounds and scars,Why have you chosen this death?No, sinking into your own graveWould be better than such regret.Silly girl,You’ve started to feel,Just recently you’ve started to cry.You’ve been down this path again and again,With a pain you’re designed to deny.Silly girl,Whose eyes rain crystals,Why do you wish to heal?Do you not remember the tortureOf being unable to feel?
ConfessionI confessThat I am not myselfI am the faceless waste of my influencesThat I obey the media like a godAnd society like a saintI confessThat I am one of the crowdI do what is expectedWhat is wanted and what is toldEven when I know it is wrongI confessThat I cannot thinkI am a walking machineThat has given up freedom and thoughtFor the sake of a simpler lifeI confessThat I hate based on colorOn sex and religionUnless it is popularTo say I love insteadI confessThat I am a murdererA thief and a scoundrelI witnessed the greatest crimes of our timeAnd stood by in silent admirationI confessThat I hated because they told me toI killed because I wanted toAnd lied because I couldBut worse, I let others do the sameI confessThat I'd do anything they'd allowAnd everything they'd wantThat I prefer to hate myselfThen for them to hate meAll this I confessDo you?
how to become a writerhave parents that separatewhen you’re in high school;a father filled with unused angerand a mother too busy to care.pretend it doesn’t hurt.let your friends treat you like dirt; after all,everything is your fault.listen to their problems with a fake smileall the while crying out becauseeverything hurts and no one can see.press a knife to your skin,but be too cowardly todraw your own blood.fall in love with peoplewho could never notice you,because you’re just. not. good. enough.chew on the multicoloredstrands of your hair. (you can’t stop running from who you really are.)carry around a notebookand scrawl eve
ScatteredSunflowers and peace signs.Cigarettes and spill stains.Umbilical chords and eulogies.Running from self.Running out of time.Running into eternity.Falling into darkness.Falling in love.Falling out of life.Sunrises wed with sunsets.Day making love to night.Forever, never's mistress.Broken glass and promises.Cuts and contusions.Dreams and stupor.Seeing the us in others.Feeling others in ourselves.Looking through the hour glass.Finding the universe within.© Rocio Belinda Mendez
RealHow can you expect to see the truth in the mirror?When your eyes are clouded by the filter of 'inferior'
To be a writerYou taste like decaying leavesand October's bad habits-when it’s halfway through Februarythat still haunts these bones.I have allowed you toclaw your loveinto my armsand chant into myuninterested earsfor much too long.I wish I was one of those girlswho could say wild flowersgrow up through my nooksand my crannies just to tearthrough my skin, screaming.I’m just that dead eyed deeron the side of the road dreamingof shoving a pen down my throatand writing these verses inside out.I am no scribe, prophet, or spell caster.I know it.My skin knows it.My pen knows it too.Years and yearsfrom nowmy mind will dwellon the way your fingerschain linked between my ribsand shook myvulnerable inside,violently.But,to be a writeris to be a masochist,and I refuse to get offon the pain anymore.
Depressioni swallow caPsulesas i drown in a perpetual fLoodof misErywith my collection of rAzorsi drift out to Seainto thE black.the tHief of my heartkillEr of soulsand Lover of deathhas dilaPidated my dreamshe sold me to Monstersand watchEd them consume me.
Twisted Up InsideWould you ever know the feeling,Of being twisted, over and over.Much like a string of high-tension cord;Ready to snap at any moment.You are barely controlling this swell of emotion.Keeping it taut, lest it burst from the surface.A plastic smile serves as your only defense;Witty banter, to stave off a deeper inquiry.You hide the signs of your sickness;Quickly easing the pressure.Whilst appearing to adjust the suit,You move through the crowd like a fading wisp.Rushed, sweating and just barely contained.You duck into the shadows, so you might breathe again.-Chen Yuan Wen, Broken World Series, 13th November 2013
It's Not Polite To Lie.Hush, sweetie,Do not let their judgments define you.Do not let their hatred construct you.Do not let their words build you.Hush, sweetie,Do not let your sorrow swallow you.Do not let your pain devour you.Do not let your loneliness change you.Hush, sweetie,Stop telling yourself lies,Stop screaming in a whisper that you'reUglyInside and out.Stop telling yourself that you'reWorthless.Stop telling yourself that you'reBroken,And hopeless,And damaged.Hush, sweetie...It's not polite to lie.
Well, Honey...You think depression is a choice?Well, honey,Do you think I chooseTo feel worthless?To feel empty,To feel sick to my stomach because I think too much?To feel broken,Lost,Constantly confused...To feel hopeless,Useless,Stressed out,Angry at myself..To feel suicidal, sometimes without knowing a reason?To feel the need to lay in bed all day,Without moving a muscle,Because getting up would just make me want to fall back down?Honey,Depression is never a choice.You don't choose depression.Depression chooses you.We don't need ignorant people to choose us, too.
This Thing We Call DepressionThere's a story I'd like to tell,A story of a girl who was diagnosed.Diagnosed with a terrifying thing,Something that would threaten her life for years to come.Something that she could never escape,No matter how she ran,No matter how she struggled.This diagnosis was a horrific thing to the girl,Although, not surprising at all.The symptoms had swallowed her for days,Weeks,Months.Months of this thing inside of her.This thing that we callDepression.There are people who tell her,"You're only sad."However, that isn't the case.See, she was never diagnosed with sadness.Everyone knows sadness.She was never diagnosed with emotion.Everyone knows emotion.She was never diagnosed with temporary heartbreak,Unhappiness,Broken dreams,Anger,Grief,Loneliness...Everyone knows all those things.She was diagnosed with something much, much worse.Since then, she's suffered with such a terrible thing...Not temporarily,But for days..Weeks..Months.Months of this <
Poets And Artists.I am self-destructive.You are the affected.I’m a thought that’s still in motion.You’re an idea perfected.I’m a sacrifice without you.But with your life, I’m injected.I’m a thousand puzzle pieces.You’re the way to connect it.