Treasure Island

Scarlett Outlaw

(23/02/1996 / Essex)

Round Two Times A Million


She did it again.
She thought that the cards would work.
They didn't, they just made her feel worse.
The cards reminded her of her past that she wanted to forget.

Her story is unheard, is unspoken,
Her past is unforgotten, forever in her brain.
She runs her hands through her hair,
She doesn't know what to do anymore

Her hands are shaking,
Her eyes are wet with the tears running down her face.
Her arms running down,
Wet with her own blood.

She cut again.
Her time has come,
Are you willing to listen to her sobs,
Hear her story?

She needs support, she feels lost.
She needs her family, her friends.
She is scared of being judged.
People calling her names.

She tried to take her own life,
She was ill for so many days, for so many nights.
She didn't know how to cope.
She was just lost.

She wants you,
She needs you.
She wants support,
She wants love.

I lie to you,
This girl is me.
Are you willing to listen to me?
Listen to my sobs?

Submitted: Friday, April 11, 2014
Edited: Thursday, May 22, 2014

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Topic(s): helplessness

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poet's Notes about The Poem

I am this girl. I am how so feels. I am lost.

Comments about this poem (Round Two Times A Million by Scarlett Outlaw )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]