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Fraud (Rant of Confessions, Secrets and Sorrows)

I am a fraud.
Living the life of a cured girl.
Living the life of a sane patient.
Living the life of someone that's not broken from past troubles.
And who just keeps denying everything around her.
The arguments between my mother and I.
Between my boyfriend and I.
And how I still cut.
How I still bleed.
And I how I broke all my promises.
And my child cries because of the yelling and screaming.
And I can't pick him up because I'm crying too much, and there blood going down my arm.
What am I to do?
I still feel the sharpness of her nails clutching me if I think about it hard enough. . .
My son's birth traumatized me because of how horrible they treated me in the hospital.
My boyfriend's parents want me to kill myself so they can say they were right and I could never handle a child in the first place.
I am paranoid.
I am depressed.
Everything hurts.
But still I pretend.
I type stories of fantasy.
Down the rabbit hole and into the magical world of Gaia we go.
And my boyfriend sleeps soundly next to me, not even suspecting that the madness underneath--
His perfect girlfriend that hates her body but loves it all the same.
I love it cause it housed my child for nine months.
I hate it because it's scarred and fat, and I feel ugly with disgust.
I stare at my friends pictures on Facebook and want to talk to them more than anything.
But I can't find it in my heart to do something.
And even my friends I come in contact with, we forget about each other quickly.
And Lizzy's posting cutting pictures again because she's sad about something or other.
But I'm just suppose to sit there and ignore the twitch, twitch, twitch of my eyes and the cuts on my arm itching, itching, itching.
She's just friends with a guy that bullied me.
Made fun of me by the side of my ex best friend, Alexa B. during junior year.
Or should I got back to middle school and how he made fun of me there too?
But like I said in previous poem, at least everyone I knew or have known has come in contact when someone that bulled me at one point or another.
Why does everything hurt?
Why does everyone leave?
At the end of this month my dad will be dead as of a year.
But there is still no grave.
No flowers need to be bought.
Because there's no where to put them.
I hate myself.
I hate everything about me.
I feel like a bad friend.
I feel like a bad daughter.
I feel like a bad girlfriend.
And most importantly, I feel like a bad mother.

I want to stop cutting.
But I don't remember how I started.
It doesn't hurt when it happens.
It bleeds, it stops, it's over-- there's another scare on my arm.
I got out, I cover it up with a black and white armlet glove.
I feel sick.
And I want to cry.
What am I saying anymore?
It's 3am. . . Why am I still awake?
Why can't I sleep?
I feel broken.
I feel ashamed.
I tried to stop cutting.
And I made it an entire year.
And than everything bad started happening again.
And I couldn't handle it.
I am weak.
I am pathetic.
I am nothing.
I am a fraud.

I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised. I promised.

But I broke it.
Written by Page_Writer (Mad Girl)
Published
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