As Clear As Black And White

A girl,
She wasn't the stereotypical girl, that people believed,
She was like a deceptive piece of rock buried in the sand,
Beneath rolling waves that cast ashore tides and currents,
Whipping away her sanity.

Blossoming into a pretty thing,
She regained hope she'd lost from the arguments she had fought,
Battled it out for the short-lived peace that followed,
She believed it to be right.

Turning against her friends, for a man she had never met before,
But the injustice was as clear as black and white,
He needed her help,
He couldn't fight his losing battle alone,
And she was dragged into war like a leaf into a tornado.

They fought in lands she'd only visited in her nightmares,
She lived on the fear that ate her from the inside out,
But keeping her alert,
It kept her alive.

Returning was the easy part, for she had nothing left to return to,
Her life swimming in the depths of someone else's head,
As she struggled to the surface to take a breath,
Before getting sucked back down into the ocean.

In the end, she built herself a tunnel lasting from now till the rest of time
Building and building the bricks that rebuilt her life,
A tragedy,
Reformed into a plastered heart.

Respire, Live on.

Two families,
Knitted together in a collapse of paradise and heaven,
A famous resort that was never affordable when you had the highest paid job in the world,
When you passed on, you entered the kingdom of smiles and laughter,
Never turning back to see the ruins on earth you left behind,
With the people you shared it with.

Desperate to turn the tide, you let the gates of luxury close in your face, the cold metal,
The metal that pressed against your skin like glue to paper,
Lost, now, afraid of being separated from everything that you were positive of,
Now you aren't so sure.

Silly remarks folded on top of each other, silently cursing under the pressure of a new comment or insult,

Struggling to feel with all the numbness weighing down on them,
Wondering why they were created.
Was there ever a point in anyone creating a phrase that hurts someone,
And knowing it?

Now you're lost from the kingdom of heaven forever.

The People Who Didn't Make It

When I grew up, I thought that everybody was the same as me.
Everyone ran home and jumped into their parents arms, dumped their bags in the hallway and then get called back to move them 2 minutes later.
Gobbling up your dinner, before running out the door with a short word of warning that you're leaving.
The silent thrill you got after doing something that was bad, and getting away with it.
Staring hungrily at things out of reach, always dreaming of another alternative, another story that you could explore and create an adventure out of.
Never stopping, always being on your feet, even after hours on end, never stopping.
The words defining ourselves, and who we are.
Without words, we'd be changed. Without them, who would you listen to when you are under stress, under anticipation of something life-changing?
The girl who never talks in school would become normal, for once in her life, she would be accepted.
The loud-mouths gasping for air as they choke on phrases and letters, coughing up sentences and commas, disposing of waste words.
They could for once in their life, listen to what's around them instead of creating their own atmosphere,
Instead of desiring their own voice to cloud the silence that's shadowed behind it.
To see the true beauty of the world without having to say a word, because it's so much more beautiful without a caption.
Just seeing, you interpret the colours vibrant, bold as the darkness under the earth, light as the snow falling on the frozen ground,
Greens exploding like supernovas, bursting into life, shrouding the dull greys into life itself.
Reds, so bright they hurt, so bright, they bring memories of certain ice-cream flavours,
Lipsticks you saw in the shops but were never confident enough to buy, because of words.
The words people would say, even think, about someone like you making a fashion statement.
Even the silence is judging you on what you look like, in the end you can't get inside people's heads.
Blues melting into oceans and tidal waves of emotions and calmness, drowning in a sea of confusion and a river of cold,
Nobody helping you because it's who they are, people too selfish to see the world in it's true light, it's cruel light.
They're too afraid to see how great and how terrible the world really is, they only stop to think about how they look,
Who they meet, what they say. They talk and talk, but never stop to listen to the beauty and the destruction of the things around them, the people around them.
Your best friend could be considering suicide, and you're too self-involved to see how bad they're hurting,
How they cover their hurt and hatred with fake smiles and forced laughs, covering their tracks but desperately trying to tell you how they are feeling,
Leaving tiny clues, but you're still talking over them.
The noise is deafening their hope in you ever understanding how they are feeling.
Learn to listen, to hear what they really mean, the true purpose behind their words, the meaning.
You can't simply sit in the dark when someone's hurting, you have to make them believe that they are wrong.
About themselves.
If a kid cracks in school, just because it is inside, is it only them to hears it?
We can't just ignore the fragments that they leave behind, we have to pick them up and build them back together.
Who cares if we can only try?
Trying gives them hope that maybe they do have a purpose, and they aren't alone in the damaging world.

We believed that we'd be lonely forever
That nobody could ever see what we really thought
That we'd never be called beautiful
That we shouldn't be here
That we could never be whole
That the sky would remain pressing down on our shoulders
Like the bully who'd twist our arms behind our backs until we'd beg for it to stop
And how we would always be the one who had to speak to someone first
Start the conversation
Begin a discussion
A friendship, a family.
As if being yourself ever changed what people thought of you underneath anymore.
As if you choosing the red over the yellow, bruise over scar, word over word, will ever change you from hated to being respected,
As if your choices that define you, will ever make you feel much further from what you already feel.
How inexplicable it is to be unable to describe yourself,
Without secrets, and memories, who are you?
Who are you, without what you have already experienced?
Just a name. Another person who is seen, ignored, spoken to like some stupid kid.
People underestimate how smart people are,
Instead we are classified as a separate race,
the young,
the vulnerable,
the famous.
Yet we're somehow separated,
Our brains working the same as everyone else's, thinking the same words and letters, just in a different order to what you think is right.
Who are we, if we all end up in the same position as everyone else,
Did we ever have a chance before you opened your mouth to spill out more words?
More pointless words, that at the end of the day nobody would have the decency to absorb the highlights of what you're saying?
Stuck in an endless cycle of forever, never stopping, never thinking, never wanting to just shut down.
But that's us.
The kids who were never let in,
Who could barely breathe under the other kids stealing the show,
The kids showing off their natural talent, their beauty,
The kids who believed they could do it from the beginning,
Who had the confidence and motivation to follow their dream and their abilities driving them forward.
We are always in the background, there but never noticed, only to hold up the signs that led the other kids into fame, glory, happiness.
And we're left,
Knowing we will never be whole, always incomplete and forever in the shadows,
Constantly being trodden on by the giants trampling the streets,
Who tower over the rest of the ants left on the roads,
The people who never made it,
The underdogs, constantly seeking a way out.
The way out, only shouting out that suicide could finally make them happy. Make them noticed, complete. Finally, an offer has come up,
Leading them out of the darkness and into the light, away from the hurt and the pain,
Away from the ongoing trail of words, which in the end were left on the paper in their final minutes on Earth
Their beauty torn from them, showing their brightest, most stunning beauty of all,
But only once they did the unthinkable,
Wrote the un-writeable,
Committed what was the shocking truth,
Our society filling the holes into which they jumped.
But that one moment where they shone, would only be momentary. It made them more special than the successors.
Than the people who made it.
The people who had their talents presented to them on a plate, all they had to do was develop them into something brilliant,
If only they could accept the people without those opportunities.
But you are special.