xobeautifullybroken97 - Tumblr blog

[xobeautifullybroken97]

You know when you're doing a jigsaw puzzle, and there's always that one piece that looks like it will fit, but doesn't quite.. and each time you put it to the side hoping that, along the way you'll find where it belongs. You get excited every time you think you've found it's place, and disappointed when it's just not a good fit. Then you get to the end of the puzzle and realise it never belonged there in the first place.

I'm that puzzle piece.

[xobeautifullybroken97]

I’ve never belonged anywhere I’m always just in between

[xobeautifullybroken97]

I want to die. I don’t want to keep fighting anymore. I’m damaging everyone around me. I can better leave this world.

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I feel like I am not enough and too much at the same time

[xobeautifullybroken97]

i secretly like getting assigned seats in school because it takes away that awkward “i have no friends in this class where the fuck am i gonna sit” factor

[xobeautifullybroken97]

[xobeautifullybroken97]

Depression- original poem

Her canvas was different to yours or mine,

She didn’t use pencils or brushes so fine,

The art she creates; she hides away,

To scared to think what others would say.

If they found out her pen was a blade,

That the art she draws will begin to fade,

But surely enough she will draw again,

Still not with paper nor pen.

Her apron a bandage, her paint is blood,

Should anyone see, she’d be misunderstood,

‘She’s craving attention’ they all would say,

So she suppressed her emotions day by day.

Each piece she drew provided release,

The pain inside would begin to cease,

For a moment or two she sits and smiles,

Tells her self she’s okay, but she’s in denial.

[xobeautifullybroken97]

[xobeautifullybroken97]

[xobeautifullybroken97]

[xobeautifullybroken97]

IG: shwashwalady

[xobeautifullybroken97]

[xobeautifullybroken97]

Depression- original poem

Her canvas was different to yours or mine,

She didn’t use pencils or brushes so fine,

The art she creates; she hides away,

To scared to think what others would say.

If they found out her pen was a blade,

That the art she draws will begin to fade,

But surely enough she will draw again,

Still not with paper nor pen.

Her apron a bandage, her paint is blood,

Should anyone see, she’d be misunderstood,

‘She’s craving attention’ they all would say,

So she suppressed her emotions day by day.

Each piece she drew provided release,

The pain inside would begin to cease,

For a moment or two she sits and smiles,

Tells her self she’s okay, but she’s in denial.

[xobeautifullybroken97]

[xobeautifullybroken97]

the most disheartening feeling is spiraling again after being okay for a while