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I Tried

by Incipient Poet 3 years ago in sad poetry
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Trigger Warning: Suicide

Six years old, she held up her multiplication sheet, "Mommy, be proud of me?"

"You can't do this properly, your sisters can, why would I be?"

Tears fill her eyes. "But at least I tried." Mother scolds and sisters laugh at the sight of the 'cry baby.'

11 years old she accepts she's a "product" for men to gawk and pick at. She starts painting her face and trying to fit what her mom says is good enough. Mother didn't like the thought of her children being pretty although she taught them to mold themselves for men and it was very confusing. Dressing up to play the part ended up in a beating from mother bruised body broken heart. She didn't know what was expected but all she could say with a lump in her throat "I'm trying..."

13 years old and now she's in school, she had thought it'd be her safe get away, but abuse follows her through out the days.

Reaching the point she could no longer bare, she took a shakey seat in the counselor's chair. Months of talking with no help they eventually say she's causing it herself. "Can't you just stay happy for a day?" Is what the principal says. She looks down gives up saying it aloud, whispers "I'm trying." In her head.

She's 17 moved in and out of the state no one wanted her to stay. Unwanted child labeled in her brain. 18th birthday signed out of care, realizing no one was truly there. Tired of being a number, a check, a inconvenience. Set out lost and confused, with people asking, "What's wrong with you? Why can't you do this why can't you be normal?"

She sinks lower then ever, ashamed of her existence. "I'm trying," she cries to her out stretched palms in the night. "No one knows how far the wounds go, how much I don't know, how much I'm taking on alone."

"I'm trying so damn hard that I feel every ounce of myself burning out, this flame is sure to run out, but at least I tried." Remembering the scold in her mother's eyes as she pulls the gun out. In the midst of the click of the trigger, everything spins out of control and the blow from her throat to the crown of her head. Everyone was so cold, she tried to do it alone, ending up dead...

~blu

sad poetry

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Incipient Poet

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