The Future Is Bright..Right?

Pink flowers decorate my room,

but I don't feel pink inside.

My dolls stare into my soul,

not at the cup of invisible tea.

I prefer Adult Swim than Spongebob.

I throw my childhood away.

I drown in my stress and develop this reoccurring rash named anxiety, 

and I don't like it.

"Everything will be okay."

Except it's not. 

I don't have enough time to take care of it, so I'll deal with it later. 

Later comes quickly, but I leave it for tomorrow.

My friends act weird, and I want them to stop.

"You're such a wimp."

I feel like a wimp; maybe I am. 

Boys come and go, but the only one that stays is my father.

If only there was a way to stop "high school" from spreading into my life. 

Suicide? "You're such a wimp." 

Counselors? "Everything will be okay."

Maybe isolation is key to survival. 

Are we still friends? If you want.

"You okay?" I don't need your help.

I visited hell, and I embraced Satan in my arms.

Until I, not an angel, not my 'Prince Charming', no one but me, 

decided to let go. Forever.

I found a boy who didn't come and go. 

Some left, but I still have friends:

the ones who make you laugh and share their Netflix.  

My GPA got me where I wanted. 

My family loves me, even if they scold me

for not cleaning my room. 

I like vegetables and fruits more than Hot Cheetos. 

I work out. I listen to podcasts. I breathe.

I forgot how to breathe in hell. I like air.

I might go back to Satan, but I can sleep knowing

I am my own savior. 

Maybe my future has pink flowers....

I'll make sure it does.

 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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