This isn't the life of a twelve year old girl

My life, everyday, poem form

Waking up to the sound of the droning alarm clock,

Hearing the bleak, monotonous screaming into my ears,

Screaming back at it with the violent hit of a scarred hand,

Lying in bed for minutes,

Wondering:

Why get up, if I'll only go back?

Why live, if I'll only die?

The feel of school clothes, 

Brushing against my cold skin,

The terror pulsing through me,

Back to school,

The land of the brain dead.

"What have you had for breakfast?"

A list of things I haven't tasted in months pour out of my mouth,

The faint echo of what I used to caress my tongue,

The silent ache of a mangled stomach.

"People will think you're too thin, they'll judge me. What kind of mother will they see me as?"

The mother you are - resounds through my head.

The frosty air whipping across my face,

The first thing to waken my dead body.

Within minutes, I cannot feel my hands or feet anymore,

The familiar streets flash past my eyes unnoticed,

Pounding beats of my jaw obliterating the chewing gum.

"Thank you!" 

The words I sing to the bus driver everyday hoping to lighten the small glimpse of life we trick ourselves into thinking we have.

I sit alone, watching the girls I've never talked to,

They murmur things that don't matter with the friends they trust.

Late for school, again.

The childish screaming and laughter of the average twelve year old,

Resounding through the classrooms.

"Be quiet!" Repeat the teachers with echoing boredom and false hope.

I sit silently, as always,

Staring with large eyes up at the pitiful.

The lessons pass by, 

The only things I can concentrate on is the hope of being alone.

Break: alone, gnawing the chewing gum in time with the tick of the clock,

Counting down to the end of days.

Lunch:

Once more alone,

I suck at the gum,

Draining the energy I can from a dead piece.

Books on suicide are my only escape from this lonely world,

The relation,

The temptation.

"Thank you!"

The words I sing to the teachers everyday hoping to lighten the small glimpse of life we trick ourselves into thinking we have.

I wait for my friends outside in the cold,

Numb limbs again in the biting cold.

Listening to the meaningless banter of friends,

I don't reply,

Chewing away at my gum.

"Thank you!" 

Once more I sing to the bus driver with a big smile on my face.

Fake, of course.

I walk alone, I buy yet another packet of aspirin to add to my growing collection.

Almost enough… 

Just 20 more.

The hidden messages written in my every words,

My sister only pokes at their meanings,

I am the enigma.

All the house work for me to complete without fail.

A brother too busy and disabled,

A sister too engulfed in exam coursework,

Three pets whining and whining for petty needs,

A blank face's reflection in the toaster,

I stop and stare, stroking the imperfections with a gentle finger.

Forcing one meal down my empty throat,

Sitting by the toilet, a toothbrush in hand,

"Don't do it!"

I repeat to myself,

Sometimes succeeding,

Sometimes failing.

An empty kitchen,

Watching the water boil in the limescale ridden kettle,

At first, the bubbles tentatively rise,

Bigger and bigger bubbles rise,

The water begins to shake, 

Reminding me of a siblings multiple seizures,

The anxiety as it reaches the boil,

I quiver with panic,

I cannot disappoint yet another.

The light reflects off the aged tea,

The skin clinging to the muddy water,

Shimmering with beauty.

Work.

Music practice.

A basic routine.

I mustn't disappoint Mummy again,

But I know I will,

I always do.

Stressed mother coming home,

Shouting, calling names,

A father abroad in an obscure country,

Escaping the home to his land of success.

"I'm sorry Mummy, I'm so sorry."

I repeat over and over again,

My voice trembling like a faulty phone line.

All the skin routines, 

Cream after cream,

Medication after medication.

Still not perfect,

I must be perfect.

The kind, loving blade,

Piercing my skin,

Scraping through a pathetic, ugly, fat excuse of a human.

For three seconds, my skin is merely a valley, before the blood begins to rise.

The beads build until they form streaks and streams,

Draining down my hips.

I catch them with my hands, it balances on my fingers before plummeting down the sink with the cool, fresh water.

The tap my brother left on.

One, two, three, four,

Counting the sit ups.

Just twenty more,

No, 

Just thirty more.

I lose count as my body tires and I can't move anymore with the pain vibrating through me.

One AM,

Slowly bringing up the bedroom window,

Screeching wildly.

Mustn't wake Mummy, she mustn't see.

The cool air washing over my skin,

Clearing my thoughts.

Cigarette in mouth and flame to cigarette,

It catches and glows in pulses, in synchronisation with my heart beats.

I can't finish the king sized, 

I'm too dizzy. 

I can't see and I feel sick.

I stub it out on the window sill,

Letting the breeze wash out the smell,

Faintly seeing the empty trains go past shaking the fragile house.

I put the box back into the hidden drawer,

Littered with ash and stale butts,

Never cleaned,

Stinking of strong tobacco.

Lying down in my cold bed,

The head rush is almost over.

The world stops swaying and I become clear again.

Lingering smell of ash glued to my clothes.

This isn't the life of a child.

This isn't the life of a norm.

Mummy, I'm sorry.

I'm different, and I can't help it.

Author's Note

Sorry about how long it is!
It was a quickie, only checked over once, so please ignore grammar and spelling mistakes!
Sorry if it's triggering. I, personally, don't think that it is, but I guess someone might find it so?

Reviews

[alexlessah]

i loved this very stunning from beginning to end.

[paul]

an epic. bordering on genius. obviously written with great labor by a professional

[StaciaMarine]

The First stanza really got me, "Why live, if I'll olny die?" Thats how I describe things too :) Great job, and your right, it is a little lengthy, but still good :)