Many of us write our story,
Taking pens or such to do so,
Hoping life will just get better,
With every word we place on paper,
But we know inside that it won’t matter,
If paper is the way we show.

No one ever stops to wonder,
About the kids who write it under,
The long sleeved hoodies that they wear,
Claiming that they’ll never care,
But deep down inside they really do,
They’re just hoping you will too.

She wrote her story on her arm,
Like many other kids like her,
Claiming themselves the right to harm,
Instead of letting others harm them first,
It’s the children, misunderstood,
That bless the words you’ve cursed.

I know you think they’re always lying,
Because they just want your attention,
But I’m promising you it’s more than that,
You’ve just got to look closer in their eyes,
And let them know it’s safe to speak,
Without the delusion of your hate.

He wrote his story on his leg,
Up his side and down his arm,
Leaving not a word unwritten,
Hoping to express himself inside,
To expose every time you’ve lied,
He wrote his story with his harm.

It’s a little task to notice them,
Their tear stained eyes and tattered sleeves,
Always hiding their stories underneath,
So no one knows they’re dying,
It would be a pity to be seen crying,
Because their dignity just leaves.

I wrote my story on my skin,
Where all could see my past remarks,
Why I remarked myself each time,
I felt the anger building deep inside,
My emotions and my feelings hide,
As I commit yet another crime.

Have you yet to notice who we are?
The children you once knew to love,
For their honesty and open hearts,
Now crawling by without a hope,
Picking up our broken parts,
But only when you aren’t looking.

We wrote our stories on ourselves,
Pencils, knives, razors and pins,
On our arms, sides, legs and…
But our stories are not read,
We just keep on burying our sins,
Waiting for you to hear what we have said.

Many of us write our story,
Taking pens or blades to do so,
Craving life to just get better,
With every word we place in pain,
Knowing that we may never matter,
When we let no one know.


About Robin Elizabeth

My name is Robin Elizabeth and I'm 21. I do not create with my own ability, but with the gift God has given me.

5 responses »

  1. Raven says:

    I commented on this over at Dead Poets society, but I wanted to say here as well that I really do love this.

  2. Jingle says:

    your friend is in our Poets Rally, welcome in…

    simply link in a poem, comment for 18 poets….
    I would love to have your talent shared and encouraged.

    • I would love to participate but I am not quite sure I’m understanding how to.

      • Jingle says:


        you place a link to your entry poem under my post by clicking on the link, comment under the post….

        or comment in my blog to let me know which poem you want to entry,
        visit and comment for 18 poets from participants list under the same post.
        then u r done…

        I will have your poem represented in my other blog…

  3. Jingle says:

    brilliant words…

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