fit well?
          you ask me, too many times
          if it were up to me
    i'd slip it off myself
          and we can skip the movie

He doesn't like the taste of black coffee
but he swears he could drown in her eyes.
He hates mornings
because there aren't any stars to look up at
but her smile shines just as brightly.
The sound of birds chirping
makes him want to scream,
but her voice sounds like wind chimes
and he wouldn't mind waking up early
if it means he'll get to listen to it.

We don't talk about it.
When someone brings up
their body, your imperfections,
the way her eyes don't light up,
the scars on my wrists,
We brush it off and turn away.
We cannot talk about it.

I try not to think about
how much I hate myself.

Self hatred is taboo.
Unhappiness isn't permitted.
But we're all so miserable.
Wouldn't it be better if
we didn't feel so alone?