You don't get it. You don't get that I have to cry myself to sleep only to scream my way from a nightmare. You don't get that I look in the mirror and curse the image. You don't get that whenever someone calls me smart or pretty I twist a knife into my dark soul for deceiving them. You don't get that I walk around with the weight of the knifes  plunged into my back from people I was supposed to trust. You don't get that the only reason the knives are in my back is because I'm unworthy of love, but keep trying to find some resemblance of it. You don't get that deep down I have this urge to find someone to love me even though I know someone never will. You don't get how ugly I am inside. You don't get how DARK it is inside. So don't you dare begin to "judge" me without getting me.