He tells me that this is a normal reaction
So why do I feel so slimy?
I hate getting upset, I just do
Plus he doesn't know everything

I suppose I could tell him
How all I do is sleep and cry when I'm at home
I suppose I could show him
My writing, my poetry
The areas of my mind in which bulimia and self harm make themselves comfortable
In my thoughts

Then, maybe he would understand
How broken and crazy I really am
But then again
I guess crazy is relative.

He acts like I'm a sweet kid
He treats me like I mean something
Like I have potential
I wish I could get that thought through my thick skull.

All I want is to tell all these people
Who, for whatever reason, believe in me
That I do not believe in myself.
I wish I could show them
The scars on various parts of my body
And the ones that etched themselves into my mind.

They do not know that I am insane
For if they did
Would they still care about my well being
As much as they act like they do now?

Sadly, I think not.