She Was [Beautiful]
Love yourself, you’re beautiful.
Beauty comes from the inside; not out.
It doesn’t mean anything, what they say, what they teach,
How the words they preach are repeated every single day.
When will the nonsense stop? When will the lies we tell ourselves leave us,
Leaves us hung out to dry, awaiting to lie in that black coffin being lifted six feet under the ground.
When will we realize the truth, and stop kidding ourselves?
Because when I look in the mirror [I don’t] see beauty.
Beauty isn’t radiating from the inside to the out,
I’m not beautiful.
And how can someone say such a thing, when the nicest of people are cast aside to the shadows?
Because the nice people, the push-overs, to goody two shoes—
No one cares about them.
Instead, they seem to transfix themselves on the broken, the hungry, the carnage, slaughter-inducing monsters:
The people like me that don’t know what to do with themselves anymore,
The people that tried looking in the mirror when they were 13 years old,
And realized with a start that their own parents were lying.
You, you are not beautiful.
Beautiful does not equal someone severely anti-social, someone that would need plastic surgery to fit them right,
Beauty does not equal taking the razor blade and cutting up your own legs, everywhere,
From your ugly calves to your ugly thighs;
Just so no one would see.
Not because they would be nice and care, but only so that they wouldn’t send you,
Send you away to an insane asylum.
And that’s when everything starts,
The anorexia, the lying, the cheating, the kleptomania, the pyromania, the anger management,
The self-hatred that seems to grow out of control overnight, spreading like an infectious disease.
And then, that anorexia leads to smoking cigarettes, that cheating leads to almost dropping out of school.
That kleptomania leads to stealing things you don’t even need— school supplies that you don’t even plan to use anyway.
The pyromania leads to taking lighters and burning everything around down, the out of control anger leads to threatening to burn the people around you.
And the self-hatred…the worst one of all?
Leads right back to the cutting, right back to the hurt and pain that you’ve held inside for so long.
You don’t even ask why it was there in the first place, anymore;
Because now, you’re just used to it.
But now, three years later, everything’s better now, right?
You still may be anti-social but people flock around you, you’re no longer overweight anymore,
And maybe your eyes aren’t muddy brown anymore, maybe they’re chocolate.
And now, you’re beautiful.
Even though those ugly scars taunt you everyday, and you can’t resist to do it again,
But now, you’re beautiful—
On the inside and out.