what can i say. it kills.
it feels like a million screwdrivers drill,
into your heart, into your soul
into your heart, into your spine,
but on the outside, we seem to be completly fine.
help me and take my hand if you dare for my face
could scare many away; you can struggle, you can run,
but repeatedly in your head the word continues to make fun.
begging and pleading never works.
why god why? why make me this way?
but to torture me? how did i disobey?
it takes a man to stand up for us,
but what man would?
that wouldn't do him any good.
help me! you can cry to the strangers around.
how can i change! what can i do?
i think i have a bruise on my stomach from the senior's shoe.
this is me.
i cannot change.
go ahead kill me,
your within range.
or you can stare and watch me suffer.
but remember the day you left me rotting on the ground
and ill remember when you joined in with your grey hound.
he chewed at my flesh,
he chewed at my bone.
now hes got my phone.
i cant call 911 my cell is long gone.
so i sit here struggling
while in yor mind your juggling.
the thought of helping the ugly boggles your mind.
so ill sit here and watch your bleak face.
help me god, i need redeeming grace.
an ugly state of mind by rosanna owen
i thought some of you could relate to this,
im not much of a poet but could you tell me if you thought it was good?