A better daughter.

Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can't move. Awake, but cannot open my eyes. And the weight is crushing down on my lungs, I can't breath, and I just hope someone will save me this time. And my mother is still calling me insane and high, swearin' it's different this time. So I tell her to give in to the demons that posess her and that God never blessed her inside. And I hang up the phone and feel badly for upseting things. Then I crawl back into bed to dream of a time when my heart was open wide and I loved things just because. Like the sick and the dying. And sometimes when I'm on, I'm really really on, and my friends all sing along and they love me. But the lows are so extreme that the good seems really cheap and it teases me for weeks in it's absence. But I'll fight and I'll make it through and I'll fake it if I have to and I'll show up the world with a smile. I'll be better and I'll be stronger and more grown-up and a better daughter and I real good friend. I'll be awake. I'll be alert. I'll be positve, though it hurts. I'll laugh and embrace all my friends. I'll be a real good listener I'll be honest, I'll be brave. I'll be beautiful. I'll be happy.

My ship may be coming in, I'm week but not giving in to the cries and the wails of the valley below. And I'll fight it and I'll go out fighting all of 'em.