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There’s a sad, young girl walking down the street,

she’s looking for a place to sleep.

It’s not that she doesn’t have a home, she doesn’t know her home.

She’s moved from place to place; Different house, same face.

There’s been 6 different homes in the past 4 academic years,

With each house she’s locked inside with her fears.

She doesn’t bother to let anyone in because she knows it will just end.

She doesn't focus on the memories, instead she sticks herself inside with the numbers.

What house is this? What statistic is this? What date is this?

Growing up, the numbers were easier for her.

She could recite and memorize the number of friends she’s ever had, the times they met and the days they laughed.

She could remember the date her world crashed and all the times she was objectified and abused.

She ignores the memories because they evoke emotion,

it’s easier to just assume they don’t exist.

And it was easier to believe when she was younger,

but she’s older now, and in a social media dominated world.

 

Her postmarked stamps can’t compete to the 1 second updates.

She starts to drown as she sees the safety of her numbers decrease.

Her 20 likes can’t compare to her friends 200 likes.

And although she knows it’s all fake, her heart aches.

Why can’t I be like them? She thinks.

Besties and couples, thigh gaps and collar bones, dresses and shoes,

all posts that make her feel like a fool.

 

She posts about peace and meditation, trying to compete,

trying to seem complete.

She posts about being drug-free and about suicide prevention,

things that could save someone elses life,

but all she wants is a good reason to save her own life.

She fights and cries, pushing away anyone that cares,

hoping to give her demons a scare.

But she’s strong and everyday she dares,

to defeat her depression and her demons,

and to look to her future.

 

She continues to post about peace and meditation,

knowing one day she’ll understand.

And the day she understands,

she’ll stand.

And she’ll jump,

and despite her fears,

she’ll fly.

She’ll fly to her future, bright and pure,

and eventually,

she’ll find her Home.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
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