not dead yet

if it were up to me i wouldn't be here. i would have left a long time ago. but others expect things of me. things that i have to do. and so i do them. and i'm not dead yet. from the minute we are born, we are treated like clay. carefully handled, molded by the hands of each person we come in contact with. so i'm sorry that i can't undo the dents and imperfections but they aren't my fault. blame the girls who made me feel useless. blame the guys who made me feel unlovable. blame the teachers who made me feel like a failure. but i'm not dead yet. i keep pushing, persevering, praying. praying that someone will see the strain in my smile. the way my leg shakes under the desk. the way i pick at my fingernail beds the way i pull out my hair the way i hold the knife to my skin. i pray. and i pray. no one ever helps. no one ever comes. but i'm not dead yet. and you can thank me for that.