And I want to tell her that I understand
what it feels like to be fake, insignificant,
and a shadow on the sidewalk of society.

And I want to tell her that I also borrow
the experiences of others --
that I, too, learn feelings
by stopping and staring at personal wreckage,
like a tourist of emotions,
like an inevitable wish of a human being.

there's nothing romantic about
stinging, shaking legs
and a still silence
surrounding lovers that creates
screams in their heads --
where did i go wrong
i'm such an idiot
there's nothing beautiful
about blood and self-loathing,
insecurities and guilt.
there's no turning around.
there's only moving forward.
and maybe they'll both be different,
but they'll probably stay the same.
and there's nothing --
nothing --
pretty about that.

the pain is back
the pain is taking over my body  
it's been 3 days and the pain hasn't left
the pain is going through my body
i don't think its going to go away
but im starting to get used to the pain

Do not call me beautiful

Until you have seen me broken;

Tears streaming down my cheeks

And snot dripping onto my lips.



Do not call me funny

Until you have seen the dark corners

And twisted secrets

My mind holds within.



Do not call me strong

Until you have seen me at my worst;

Saying I don't care

And about to give up.



But whatever you do,



Do not call me ugly

Until you have seen my eyes

Lit up by the brightness

Of the setting sun.



Do not call me boring

Until you have seen me talk

About the things that

I am most passionate.



Do not call me weak

Until you have seen me stand;

Facing the world once again

And saying, "I've won."