I live in a dying vessel

self harm is not beautiful.
it is not wonderful to be saved
it makes you feel weak
and it makes you feel sick.

carving his name into your skin
is not poetry
and is not romance

mental illness is not glamourous
or fascinating
or graceful

mental illness is sickness
anger, disgust

stop romanticizing something
that destroys life itself

****** is not *******,
skin is not something to hide.
You are not a body with a soul,
rather a soul with a body
that you needn't be ashamed to show.
Feel the sun on your chest
and the grass between your toes
and breathe in contentment
as the wind writes poetry on your body
with it's gentle, kind mouth.
Do not be offended by human anatomy,
an elegant miracle held bare in its glory.

Sweet girls hurt my heart.
the ones who braid their hair
and have a favorite meadow
and a favorite flower
and eyes like the moon
and a laugh like rain.
Those are the girls who can whisper softly
words of love, till they melt out of her mouth
and drip every so gently into a boys strong hands.
He eats them up (boys always do)
and the words fall into his chest
and tie themselves around his heart
ever so tightly and ever so snug.
Shes all he thinks about- her sweetness
her eyes, her laugh, her mind.

Sweet girls make my head hang low
because one of them I'll never be.
I'm too awkward, too blunt
I can't whisper, I'm much too clumsy
and my eyes are much too dark.
I'm overdone, over used, and violent to the soul
to put it simply boys will touch me
but never wish to touch my mind.
You can **** me my love,
but my love, you wont love me.