I think it’s human nature to fear death.

To preserve yourself is the significant goal.

That’s why I fear myself. 

It’s very loud.

It’s almost always loud. 

I can’t even think sometimes.

It’s not very easy to make everything quiet. 

If I’m not careful, then trying to achieve silence

Might just kill me. 

I can’t look up sometimes.

I’m afraid of how they’ll look at me.

What they think of me.

If I could explain the hurt that echoes inside me,

I would. 

If I explained, 

You would realize that your comforting only helps me a little.

Because there are no words for such things. 

For such pain.

I hate myself the most, but I hate them more 

For making me hate myself,

In the first place.

I don’t fear myself. 

The girl in the mirror isn’t scary.

It’s more who she comes from and who she will be.

That’s what scares me.

The girl in the mirror has a mother

Who lost herself when she was far too young.

The girl in the mirror has a father

Who sometimes forgets 

That his children aren’t very strong, 

Especially against his own hand.

He is hard to predict.

The girl in the mirror is scary because

She has her father’s eyes.

She has her father’s hair. 

Her father’s eating habits.

Perhaps even his scariness? 

The girl in the mirror scares me because

She talks quietly.

She breathes gently. 

She walks silently. 

She cries with her mouth pressed closed,

Her hand guarding it, blocking any sounds

That might give her away.

Her mother had done the same. 

Cried so quietly,

It was disgustingly beautiful.

Who am I more like? 

I want to gouge my eyes out,

Because I look just like my father. 

I hope I don’t lose myself like my mother did.

(Even though I already have)

(Guess I’m halfway there,

To my demise)

Is death blissful?

Would it take away these “pretty little eyes”

That shed silent tears?

Story time!

I tried to kill the girl in the mirror.

I looked her in the eye. 

But she didn’t say anything.

She didn’t try to stop me.

She let me slide the knife against

Our pulse. 

She didn’t smile, cry, laugh.

Nothing. 

Does she not want to live?

That’s sad. 

Life is supposingly lovely.

Absolutely, irresistibly

Lovely. 

Give us a reason to live.

I want to write about every time my parents scared me.

But there’s a part of me that is afraid.

Afraid, because I was so small when they hurt me. 

Why did you hurt me?

I was so little.

I didn’t know what you were doing. 

I didn’t know that my father wasn’t supposed to treat me the way he did.

That little girls shouldn’t be starved by their mothers because they’re fat.

I’m scared that if I write it now,

All of it,

It’ll be permanent 

And I’ll understand it forever.

I’d rather live in the bliss 

That the little girl in my memories gives me.

The hurt I feel is unimaginable.

Sometimes, I laugh and think,

There’s no way I can hurt this much.

The hurt comes out of nowhere,

Just like when my father gets upset.

It hurts me quietly and gently,

Destroying me little by little,

The way my mother’s words tear me down,

Piece by piece. 

It makes everything else numb.

I can’t feel anything.

Maybe that’s why death doesn’t hurt me.

When I sit and cry and gasp,

I want to turn to someone.

I want someone to hold me.

Someone to promise me.

I want to reach towards my mother,

Open arms,

And hope that she holds me,

Guides me.

Comforts me.

Like the movies.

But that mother screams,

Her words hurt me.

She doesn’t stop.

It doesn't stop.

It never stops.

Please stop. 

I can’t hear anything.

Just hold me please.

Hold me like those mothers in the movies.

Wipe these tears for me.

Try to understand me.

Try to love me.

I’m sorry for not being perfect.

Please don’t hurt me, Ma.

I’m only your daughter. 

Every time.

Every time. 

Every time I have to sit 

And pick myself up

By myself.

I sit and gather pieces of my shattered heart.

Heart break isn’t always 

Because of romance gone wrong.

My heart breaks every day.

Because Abba can’t look at me.

Because Ma is so hard to please.

I never stop.

I try so hard.

Because of their rare smiles.

Those smiles.

Those smiles

Are everything to me.

Because I will die,

If I have to,

To see my father smile at me.

I will die if it means my mother

Will kiss my cheek in pride.

This hurt kills me. 

I want to cry. 

Over and over again.

Because I want their love so badly.

I want to remember

What it’s like to be held in my mother’s arms.

I want to remember how the world looked

Way up on my father’s shoulders.

I want to look up after school

And see my father smiling at me,

Holding his big red umbrella.

A beacon guiding me home,

To his arms.

I cried while writing this.

Soaked every page of my journal.

Smudged the ink.

Tried to die.

I have to go now,

Mother is expecting me.

I need to clean up.

I've made a mess.

I can’t look like this.