When you look at me,
What do you see?
Someone creative?
Someone kind?
Someone beautiful?
I don't know many more,
I am not you.
But this is what I see,
When I look at me:
A monster with no heart.
An empty being.
A disordered pig.
A lost cause.
A basket case.
A lying, conniving *****.
A mental breakdown in physical form.
A high BMI.
A poser.
A wannabe.
An embodiment of indecisiveness.
But this is just when I look at myself,
So I'm fine if I just don't look,
Right?

I thought I was fine,
But as I find,
I have A Sick Mind.

With the violent jerking,
And battering of my heart,
And my self-image,
I have deteriorated.
I don't want to look at myself for a second longer than it takes
To put on my face in the morning,
Because if I do,
I will begin to poke and **** at my own flesh,
Feeling as if I am going to upchuck every calorie I have consumed
In the 15 years, and 120 days of my life.
If I look at myself long enough,
I am repulsed,
And my day from that point on will be violently,
Disruptively disordered.
Everything I am forced to consume,
Because of the need to hide my disastrous disorder,
Will become disgusting, half-digested
*****.
And rottingly,
I will feel pure,
And vile,
All at the same time.

Could you?
Could you bring yourself to tell me the truth?
Could you tell me what really happened all those years ago?
Could you tell me why you never loved me,
Like I did you, though you pretended to?
Could you tell me why you lied about why you had to shatter me?
Could you tell me why you even said yes in the first place?
Could you tell me why you kissed him,
In a bathroom, and told me you had to leave me,
Because your mother was discriminatory
Towards any being who loved more people than those of just the opposite ***?
Could you tell me why you never openly told me the truth,
But told the whole story on a forum,
As a dedication to him?
Could you tell me why,
After you knew I was mostly healed,
You wrote all of that,
And put it up,
Where you knew I would see it?
Could you tell me why you never said a ****** thing,
When we started talking again?
Could you tell me why you lied?
Could you?

Breath short,
Distance long,
Goals still not reached,
I hobble along.
Time fast,
Pace slow,
My soul unknowing,
I have no place to go.
Wide smiles,
Loads of lies,
Distrust grows,
In my wavering eyes.
One hand firm,
One hand shaky,
They are strong,
I am weak, my insides achy.
Breath short,
No distance,
I have stopped,
With much resistance.

Have you ever seen someone so crumbled,
That it seems they are dying?
Someone so hurt,
And so full of distaste for themselves that they tried to end?
I have.
I have been one,
And I have met a million.
And there is ONE thing I have realized about all of these people.
Not one of them is weak.
Not a single one.
Most of these shattered souls have held together through a million beatings,
Physical or verbal.
All of these beings who fold in upon themselves,
Trying to hide,
Are the most beautiful humans to ever exist.
Each of these souls with an ache for an end,
Are talented, and skilled in ways that most would not think.
Every bruised heart has loved a trillion,
But are now afraid to have someone cruel reach in,
And rip their love out.
Every single one of these people are perfect,
Worthy beings.
Every single soul like this,
Deserves to wail,
And cry.
Each one has every right to scream,
And howl,
Until their lungs are weak.
All of them deserve the most perfect love,
And they each deserve respect.
To most,
Each of these souls are weak.
But they are not.
They are trees whose limbs have been scorched,
But are still breathing,
And are still dreaming,
Even if they believe that they do not deserve a single good thing.
They have leaves sprouting at their bases,
Flowers blooming from their roots.
They may seem powerless to some,
Even themselves,
But they are wise,
Powerful souls,
With a thousand rings in their tree trunks,
Who will NEVER be uprooted.