𝔫𝔬𝔯𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡

cause me such pain?

im splitting my head open,

to physically separate

my mind from my fucking body

Unable to show myself affection. Hidden are my own intentions.

TW: These lines are ugly, icky, gross. They compliment my face most.

I’ve internalized the objectifying gaze of another, and of course, I’m the ugliest motherfucker. 

So scream and point at the girl in the mirror! “Become invisible, I don’t want you here!”

And when I go outside I try to hide from other people that pass me by.

They smile with bullets stuffed in their grins or maybe I’m still having suicidal delusions?

This self-perception-induced stress has me quivering from my own internal threats.

My own poetry makes me uncomfortable. It is really a pathetic cruel cycle.

So I sing to myself at night, soft narcissistic lullabies.

After all I only write about myself and I’m too prideful for anybodies help.

But they’ll say I’m “seeking attention.” Oh how I resent that simple dissection. As if my agony’s just a cry for connection.

I’m just a sad story I’ve chosen to live in. Since I was 10 this has been my prison.

A landfill of vain obsessions, a museum of ugly, curated depressions. Where every exhibit’s a failed confession.

I tried to bargain with Death, with all my life to show. “What a pity,” he laughs. And shakes his head ever so slow.

“There’s no price I could take, nada you could suggest… even if you brought all your manners, your trinkets and dressed your best. It still wouldn’t be enough! Not a soul would mourn your death!”

My shoulders drooped, my head fell down, disappointment weighing heavy on me. But his claws lifted my face that frowned, An’ his eyes glowed as he said with glee:

"Now what is a deal if I am not pleased? I do a deed for you and your life does nothing for me? You, of no fame or fortune,  you’re not even happy.”

And with 1,000 mouths he laughs til I cry out, “how more humiliating can this be?! Death, face to face, laughing at me!!”

On an’ on he prances the floor, his mocking steps, a cruel show. With a dramatic huff, he spins ‘round and looks me over from head to toe.

“Ohhh they’ll whisper how low I’ve gotten, how desperate I must be! Just to fill my tombs. No, no, you’re not coming with me.”

I can’t stop mumbling terrible words to myself again! In the back of my mind, the taunting begins. A steady stream, mellifluous, cruel, and unkind. New waves of self-loathing, each thought at a time. 

You’ll lose their attention, hurry, keep it quick! My ugliness makes me sick! My face is distorted and asymmetric. My wants of vanity are egocentric. I want eyes that are bold and electric. I want lips that are plush and eccentric.

My lists for change are numeric— it's barbaric! Fucking rips me apart, makes me hysteric!

I’m smoking weed till I can’t focus, Drinking liquor till my body’s explosive. Doesn’t matter, these thoughts are more corrosive.

Galvanizing and pursuing with muskets. My heart pounds begging for justice! Demanding emancipation from all of us.

It’s like my internal structure for understanding and experiencing life has been set up for somebody else when I anticipated it for myself.

It’s hard to make friends when I can’t stand me, stuck in a prison cell, I use as a body. Desperate, I desire to be someone else. It makes me feel abandoned by myself.

I hate who I want to abandon, I hate the part that wants me to leave. This mental state is confusing. Self-polarization thrives in my misery.

With only one fatal way to escape, It would be my life’s 2nd biggest mistake. The 1st was plastic surgery that ruined my face.

My genuine laughs, my hands shield to cover, forced to hide my crooked smile from others.

Crying is not beautiful with eyes like mine, I’d tear them out happily if it wasn’t a crime.

Stuck in a self-hatred superstorm, With nowhere safe or free. I’ll gladly surrender over, let someone else be me.

It’s not just the body I want to erase, I’d swap out my soul and my whole inner space. Take all that makes me, just toss it away, Feed it to creatures, let them feast all day.