To the Girl who is Told "It Gets Better"

As if "getting better" makes up for the amount of time spent deciding if this constant allusion to her future is even worth the present

 

As if what she feels in the present won't matter as long as the pain stops down the road

 

She's told to cherish every moment, to live while she's young, so she cherishes each moment the high takes away her perception of adolescence, and she's barely living

 

What they really want her to cherish are the false realities portrayed on the outside

 

This is the girl on friday nights who runs away so she can pretend its okay, that just being herself isn't enough on the weekend

 

Who runs away so she can escape into the empty sky with her cold breath, but its only ever for a little bit 

 

As the months go by, she starts to become the image she portrays herself as because if they tell her enough times, it stops being words fed to her from social media and turns into to the truth, don't you dare tell me it isnt the truth

 

And they will always expect mountains from her but as soon as she reaches for her straightedge they wonder why the mountains turn into deep, empty valleys

 

And she is told to stop the abuse as if she is the root of her own problems, but in reality its the system that they have created for her

 

"its all temporary"

 

the only thing she knows is temporary is the stream of blood trickling down her arm when no one else is awake to see what she has become

 

And yes, she'll cut deep, but only deep enough for the pain of her wrist to suppress the pain of her own thoughts 

Thoughts that twist around her body, enveloping her, kissing her neck and tightening their grip every passing day

 

Not tight enough to kill her though, because she's told "it gets better"

 

Of course it gets better, but is this what she needs to learn that her pain is just as temporary as her happiness?

 

No, time will never justify suffering

It can put the blood back into her body, it can take the pills from her stomach and the breath from her lungs

But it can never erase the scars of her past

 

This is the girl who doesn't care how it gets, the girl who cares how it is

and what it is? it isnt enough.

This poem is about: 
Me

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