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I’m supposed to be better, find the clouds silver lined. I’m supposed to be helpful and humble and kind.

I’m supposed to be an older sister. Wise beyond my years and smart above my peers. A highschool pioneer who’s dried up all her tears. 

My parents say I’m all better, I don’t need to sit on brown leather of that therapist’s couch scars hidden under my sweater 

Cause they didn’t see them when they were bright red. From then until now repeating they said

Aren't you all better now?
I think I’ll be better when I’m dead. 

And it’s not that I’m not happy, I’m thrilled. When I fly I soar and I’m just filled with this euphoria that can only be felt by a person who thought they’d be killed. 

But when that’s all the see, and that is all they see, the happiness that I do have and the potential that I can be, it’s almost like they forget the blood curdling screams the torment and torture that brought me to my knees.

Cause I’m not all better. Sometimes I try in vain to be,

but normally I am mature enough to see, that dispite what they say, and how they try to reinvent me

All I want to be is happy 

I’m supposed to be better now, I said that when I fell apart for the third time last week, but weeks turned to months and I thought I was free 'till it all hit again like a tsunami 

I’m not all better now.
I’m happier yes, and I feel more free and I promise it’s not like it used to be
But I’m not all better now,

And maybe I’m not supposed to be

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