if you try to find my faults
you won't have to look very hard
I'm aware of every character flaw

my low self-esteem
caring too much about other people
when their bad days ruin my mood
the days I can't quite get out of bed
or the times where I've filled my mind
with thoughts welcoming death

I start to worry when someone is late
they've forgotten about me
they don't love me, or even like me
and sometimes that ends up being true
validating my own self-hatred
my brain reminds me I was right

I'm as hideous and disgusting
and unworthy of kindness
as I had always suspected

I hold everyone else up on a pedestal
every person I've encountered is
better, prettier, smarter, wiser
and I fall in love with the way
their eyes sparkle and lips curl
when they're passionately speaking

maybe I never love myself because
I can't see the spark in my own eyes
or maybe it doesn't exist at all

Love is never an accident.
Whether it be love at first sight,
Or whether it’s cause to lament.
If you fall in love it was right.

Each time we love we were meant to.
Whether it comes after a chase,
Or regret of the depths sent to.
To feel love is an act of grace.

The feeling of love never lies.
Whether you love somebody wrong,
Or someone you idealize.
Love and truth together belong.

Love is never an accident.
Whether it makes you feel guilty,
It’s always a gift Heaven sent.
Love is absolute purity.

i didnt fall in love with this boy,
not this one
                     who tore me to pieces,

and i feel like an angel ,
suffocated in white, my wings were clipped
on the first day you
                                  wanted to kiss me,

and it feels violent,
disgusting,
my halo wasn’t built just to break —

and i did not forgive you,
i never will .

because you were never meant to go to heaven.

some days it feels like
everyone is out
living their lives
while I am typing into a void
that leaves me more empty
than when I started

I exist in everyone's head or heart
a different person;
not everyone will have
the kindest image of me painted
some will meet me at a vulnerable time
paint me with wide brush strokes or
harsh dark lines that only seem impenetrable
to protect myself from decoloration

the details in a large painting matter less--
and I can't help but feel like maybe
we were too ambitious with art of this size
too many details added in too quickly
and the canvas is left mostly blank
did you know, love, that a complex canvas
woven of good, strong, fabric
holds more paint than a shallow gloss?

spend a minute looking at my angles
the shadows you've drawn across my face
is this how you've chosen to see your subject
or is this who I really am?
are you drawing what you really see
or just what you think you see?
look closer, try again to paint me as I am
see my many layers of colour and shape

because baby, maybe I am a piece of work
but you're no artist, either

Life is stressful
But it’s okay
I’m getting by

Some days are rough
But it’s okay
I still see the light

People come and go
But it’s okay
I have people that love me

I’m tired a lot
But it’s okay
I’ll get my rest one day