You said my words were synonyms for beautiful and my lines let you crossed boundaries. You said what i was making was art to be preserved. But, darling, my words arent from books, nor these tv shows, nor the fantasies of the real world. My words are a part of me and a piece of what you called ugly. These words were carved using the sharpness of the blades that once cut me. And how would i expect you to love me? My art is for the eyes of the ones who are brave enough to look at me.

so how are you supposed to love me?