since i was twelve
i've always hated this body,
looked in the mirror every morning
and saw it glaring back at me,
because it hates me just as much as i hate it,
i didn't know insecurities could mean this much.

they give me all the pills
to try to make me not be afraid of me
but i know they can't ever fix me
so i push them all away
so i don't drown myself in medicine
just to die again.

i've seen therapists
but they don't seem to care
when I tell them my feelings
because they'd rather send me into an asylum
for my cynical thoughts.

I'll take another punch,
another cut, another hit, another fake fix
so I can pretend like I am happy
while i'm dying on the inside,
because escapes are better than healing
what might be beyond repair.

I don't want to be this way forever,
and I'll keep lying to myself
saying i'm getting better
when i'm falling deeper into darkness,
but it seems that I stop myself
before I get better,
because I hate me
and i'm scared to be happy.