Hands covered in scars
And I know
It's my fault
I wonder
Who could ever love them?
They are just a reminder
Of what I've done
And that isn't beautiful
At all
Blood isn't beautiful
Injuries aren't beautiful
Especially when I'm the cause
People
Want
Perfect
But I want to be loved like a hot pepper
For my flaws
Even when they aren't pleasant
Or beautiful
Unfortunately
I'm not a vegetable
(this note was written by the view out your bedroom window)