people think a lot, about me,
amuses yet destroys me.

you see my smile?
mm, not real.
it's a lie.
this is how I feel:

torn apart at the seams,
you can't help me,
permanently ****** up,
like the scars i bear.

my body looks good to you,
but it's disgusting to me,
fat, unattractive, hideous,
perfect is something,
that i will never be.

bruised, yes i am.
damaged? yes, madam.
broken, indeed.
worthless, yeah.
i should be dead.

tell me...

would you love me if i said
''shoot me with your gun,
make me hurt real bad''?

would you touch me,
if my scars were on display?
would you hold me,
and protect me?
would you?
because if you had scars,
i'd kiss them and you,
because you're my darling,
you're my boo, sweet you.

if i was the worst,
would you wait,
until the day,
i gave you,
my very best?

would you take a test?
to prove your love to me,
and set all of my thoughts,
and my doubt at ease?

would you prove to me,
that you're not like the rest,
that you wouldn't just leave,
because of a petty argument,
or a stupid disagreement?

would you stand by my side,
even if i was a mess?
if so, would you marry me?
please my love, say yes.