January 7, 2010
By MelissaSmith GOLD, Brooklyn, New York
MelissaSmith GOLD, Brooklyn, New York
17 articles 0 photos 0 comments

They don’t understand what they do to me
They will never understand how they slowly kill me
Not using weapons
But words
With each scream
Its like another needles being pushed un willfully through my skin
Injecting me with the bitter reminders of how my shot wasn’t good enough
How I will never be good enough
For them at least
Their words sit inside of my mind like raw, 8 day old garbage,
Rotting under the scorching hot summer sun
That someone wants to dispose of
They don’t realize at all
How the are forcing that needle farther and farther through my heart
Lessening the time on the bomb
That sits in the dampest coldest cave
In my stomach
That’s ready to explode
That’s going to explode
They think I’m so perfect
With the perfect grades
With the perfect image
On this pedestal of perfection
But does it look like I’m in a box labeled Barbie
Cause I’m not
I can’t be toyed with
I can’t be controlled
I’m not some doll
With porcelain skin
And silk hair
I’m human
I’m 13
I never knew making mistakes
Would leave me like this
Drowning under the pressure of perfection
Fighting to run that last mile
To make my standards
I never imagined
I would be all alone
This dark
Pitch black
Empty room
Called home
Searching for a way to escape
The sharpness of those words you use
To supposedly make me understand what I did wrong
It feels like every sentence is like another 10 miles I’m being dragged
Under a 16 wheeler semi
That just won’t stop
All I want is the needles to be taken out
The garbage to be cleaned up
The bomb to be defused
The box unlabeled perfection
The pressure released from my lungs
The race to be finished
The room to be lightened
And the semi truck to just brake.
I just wan to be your daughter again
Not a garbage bag of failure
Yet alone a doll to put on display

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