You say this depression, this sadness, this self-hate, this anger is just a phase.

Because im a child i have no voice, no path in the world.

Because im a teen im called a brat, a nusiance, a menace, and stupid.

But because im not you, im misunderstood.


This sadness is not just a phase, its my soul.

Its what my dreams of death and tears paving rivers out is for.

Its the mornings where im too tired, even if i’ve slept for 9 hours.

Its this everlooming, everpresent, cage of loneliness with the key being held and taunted in my face by the ones always so perfect.


THis self-hate is just not for a second, or a cry out for attention.

It’s dreaming about starving yourself, dreaming about crying it all out.

It’s hiding in the dark to let a single tear fly.

This self-hate is pain i inflict on myself, the measures i go to push others away.

This self-hate is what drives me to death, what crushes my joy, what steals my words.

This self-hate is what drives me away from a reflective surface, from even a mere photo.

This self-hate is what drives me to be better and to understand everyone else triple the times i used to.


This anger is just not a phase.

This is my frustration because i feel, more then i know, that im alone and nobody gets me.

This anger is the only way for me to be alone, so what i do can not be stopped til it’s too late.

This anger is my lack of will to push on, my last spark im still arrive.


But i have no voice in who i am, what i am, where i am, and whom i am.

Im given the corner, told to obey and bow down to the elders.

But it’s a cage of death, crushing my voice til i can’t even remember the sound of it.

Im not given a vote in thise world, im not allowed to decide where i stand and how i stand, im not given the choice on whom i will be or whom i look up to but raher what they want.

My voice was stolen, and still has remained stolen by the very ones who brought me here.

The adult’s become the dream killers, the government becomes the secret to falling, the camera’s are just the weakness, and the voice is just a toy to be played with.


Im not a brat im just misunderstood.

Im constantly pointed in which direction i should walk on from multiple voices, but thousands of answers which bring upon millions of questions. 

Im not a brat but a hurt human being. 

  • Author: Brexy Rose (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 17th, 2022 11:42
  • Comment from author about the poem: This is a bunch of sef doubts and how i truly feel, personnaly.
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 10


  • Rocky Lagou

    Damn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wow. This was so relatable. As a teen myself who is belittled constantly by my homophobic father (Check my poem My Silent Protest) this really hits deep. The emotion in this piece felt so genuine and I can totally sense your desperation. I have a poem (which I haven't yet posted) that talks about this topic as well. Not having a voice because of my age and simply because of my sexuality. I'll give you a special sneak peak:
    "I didn’t have the say in which cards I wanted to play
    But it wouldn’t have mattered anyways, not during that age"
    This was an amazing poem. Keep on fighting! 💖✊

  • Amon

    I can hear you from this far

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