Beautiful bruises
cover my hands
little galaxies on
a pale expanse.
Bones showing
under layers of skin
making sharp edges
people call a sin.
Eyes glazed over
happiness is gone
emotions hidden
inside of songs.
Writing stories
for i am the maker
seen by my eyes only
dark ink on pale paper.

Beautiful.
What is
beautiful*?
Clearly,
it's something
I am not
if no one
dares to
look at
me in
such a
way, or
even utter
such a
word to
me.

Imagining his voice,
his scent,
the way he would cup my face,
his control.

Reliving the ****
reliving the abuse

Hating myself
I did this
I should have left

A year ago
it hurts

Don't talk about it
it never happened

Scared
comming out

I was ***** and abused by my boyfriend
said he loved me

used me and threw me out for the next

took my virginity
my innocence
my body

held onto my mind
he dosen't let go

his face haunts me every day,
moving to the otherside of the world and he stays put in me

Hating myself for being *******

I swallowed you and
though about swallowing the gun

I licked the taste of you off my lips and
thought about licking off the rest of the chemicals

You're hands wrapped around my throat and
I wished they were a rope

I left scratches on your back and
thought about scratching my veins open

We kissed in the pool and
I imagined sinking to the bottom

Loving you was just a distraction from hating myself

screaming into a room filled with people,
and yet i still feel silent.
ripping at my skin begging for beauty to appear,
and yet I have not been granted my wish.
clawing at my eyes to finally see what gifts life has offered me,
and yet I still feel alone.
why is it so hard
to forgive,
to accept,
to love
yourself?
has my brain become so damaged by society
that a switch turning off
causing a disease
to spread like wildfire through my cells?
I beg myself to be normal,
try to accept that I'm different.
but different isn't normal
and normal isn't me.
I have to accept it and move on,
be who I am meant to be.