life is one big fucking lesson that someone decided
i needed to learn. and i guess
that's just not okay with
me anymore, because i'm tired of being
played with and stepped on
like some decorative oriental rug whose thread is
my best friend told me that
the more marks i made upon my skin
the less of a chance i would
have at someone loving me. who the hell decided
that blood lines aren't pretty and
makeup wears off too fast sometimes and
who the hell decided that
i wasn't beautiful enough to love myself, because
i'm tired of playing a fucking
guessing game, trying to point fingers at who's who.
i'm like a subordinate clause in
some people's sentences, it seems. they
don't need me, but i sure fucking
i wish someone could
photoshop the scars off of me.
maybe then someone
would love me for what's underneath, and not
what's on top.
the worst part is that i'm not even
unhappy. i'm just empty. numb.
sitting here wishing
that i was just dead already because nothing
could possibly hurt worse
than what they've done to me. nothing could
possibly bring any more tears
than the sound of my blood hitting the tile.
be fucking happy please.
i just want to be normal.