Why I Write

People always told me, not to worry that somebody was going to love me,

That somebody would see my true beauty,

But 5 years passed and people still called me ugly,

They howled and screamed, they hated me,

But I still believed that somebody would love me,

That somebody would see past my surface and see my true beauty, and see that there was so much more to me than what they could see,

 

But 5 years passed and they still called me ugly,

They made fun of my speech and the way my face looked when the tears would stream,

Ten years old and my life was nothing but sheer misery,

Ten years old and I already discarded any hopes of a happy ending,

But suddenly things started changing,

I was moving on to middle school and I would never have to deal with the same things,

Or so I hoped,

But three years passed and once again I stopped looking for happy with the word ending,

Thirteen years old and my heart and soul were blacker than coal,

I spent my nights with my head tilted to the ceiling,

On my knees awash with misery, praying that I could just stop crying,

On my knees praying to god that somebody would love me,

But god wouldn’t answer me and the silence became too much for me, the silence became haunting,

For nights I lied awake, thinking about what it would take,

To end this heartache,

For nights I lied awake until one night a thought came over me,

“I could end this misery with a little bit of sleep,

Yes sleep would make everything alright,

If I were not to wake the next morning.”

A year later I was still struggling and kind soul advised me,

To stop bottling up my feelings

Because if I didn’t they would form like chains around my feet,

They would drown me.

And so I started writing down all the things I couldn’t say,

Just like that the words flowed from me to the page.

By age fifteen my heart started healing,

I grew into my nose and blossomed like a rose,

By age sixteen I no longer found it so hard to breathe,

I didn’t fall apart when someone didn’t like me,

I no longer needed others input to see my beauty.

Now Seventeen, I’m truly happy,

I don’t need others to want or need me,

I’m not bothered by the fakes and the phonies,

I live my life and I am the best I can be.

Every day I continue writing,

Poetry saved me, it helped me to unleash everything.

I give poetry to the world because poetry gave to me and one day I hope that it will do the same thing,

For a girl who is yet to recognize her beauty.

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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