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.