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Ellen Miller Poem
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.
Copyright © Ellen Miller | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Ellen Miller Poem
what's that?
who's this?
what am i doing?
why am i here?
i have so many questions
about, well, everything.
i'm expected to know so much
but i feel like i don't know
anything.
the brain of a highschooler
is an interesting one.
i can list fact after fact about
chemical bonds, the civil war,
why the sky is blue...
but i couldn't tell you my favorite food.
my favorite movie.
what i really want to do with my life.
i don't know myself.
sometimes i feel guilty about having opinions.
because, well, i don't really know.
maybe its because people never listen.
maybe its because if a man said it,
he would be worshipped. praised. appreciated.
because no matter how loud i yell.
they would never listen to me.
and if i ask why?
they say i never talk.
but they are the ones who don't know
how to listen.
i do everything in my power to please others.
i build them up, brick by brick,
while the walls of my mind begin to crumble
because i am taking from my foundation.
because instead of eating my food,
i wonder how many calories are in it.
how much sugar there is.
artificial ingredients.
and they wonder how i stay so skinny.
i don't have the heart to tell them i'm starving.
for food, for attention, to be heard, to be seen,
to be wanted, to be chosen, to be loved.
i still have so many questions.
but i know one thing for sure.
the strongest soldiers are not the ones
who are given the toughest battles.
the toughest battles find the ones
who they know can't fight for long.
Copyright © Ellen Miller | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Ellen Miller Poem
where did all of the friendly faces go?
the people i was just gossiping to in my math class?
the people who i've stayed up all night talking to?
the people that i would trust if my life depended on it?
i guess they're gone.
their tables full of girls who look exactly the same.
high pitched laughter at some stupid joke no one cares about.
and here i am.
standing in the middle of the lunchroom.
i just wanted to eat my food.
i walk over to an empty table and set down my tray.
my eyes scan over the rows and rows of people.
twenty minutes ago, i was doubled over laughing with them.
now i can barely manage a smile.
i can feel their eyes on my back.
i can feel their fake-pitied whispers.
they must really feel bad for me, huh?
well here i am.
standing in the middle of the lunchroom.
i just wanted to eat my food.
my food is cold now.
my phone is almost dead.
my head hurts.
i just want to go home.
it hurts when all you want is to fit in.
it hurts when the people you've known for years ignore you.
and god, it hurts when what should be the best part of your day
turns into this.
i'm not even hungry anymore.
but here i am.
standing in the middle of the lunchroom.
when all i ever wanted
was a friend.
Copyright © Ellen Miller | Year Posted 2025
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