We all strive
To be our best version
Of a perfect self

We all want
The perfect body
The perfect things
The perfect poems

But the funny
Thing is

It’s always
The quirk
The flaw
And
The ingenuity
That always stands out

sometimes,
i smile at the mirror,
to remind myself that i can.
because i've forgotten what it feels like.

sometimes,
i spend hours repeating the same phrase in my head,
just to make sure it sounds right.
"hi... could i please have the-"
it never does.

sometimes,
i stare at the crimson lines on my wrists,
and try to convince myself that they're beautiful.
no one else thinks that though,
so why should i?

sometimes,
i check my pulse,
because i need to know that life is temporary.
i need to know that one day it'll be over.

sometimes,
i stare at my reflection,
but i don't recognize the girl looking back at me.
why is she so broken?
she follows me like a ghost.

sometimes,
the time passes so slow,
that a minute feels like a day,
and i wonder if it'll ever end.
will it ever end?

sometimes,
i wake up with tear stains on my pillow,
blood soaked sheets.
i don't remember though.
regret is not an easy feeling to deal with.

sometimes,
i watch mouths move in front of me,
but the screams in my head take up too much space.
so i hear nothing.
"can you repeat that please?"
"sorry."

sometimes,
my hands are raw and tired, scratched away to nothingness.
"how'd you get that burn?'
all i can say is that it was an accident.
was it?

sometimes...
sometimes a lot of things.
sometimes i wish i wasn't here.
sometimes my body doesn't feel like mine.
sometimes i want to cut the pain out of my body.
is that possible?
sometimes.