Am I pretty?
Or am I just plain?
Do you truly love me?
Or is it all a game?
Am I just a pawn in another lane?
Do I run or do I pretend and fall lame?
The answer is No: I have no love.
There is no emotion of happiness towards myself.
Remember the time when I used to laugh and have fun?
That old self is you are no longer among.
That old self died in the hands of the bullying young.
Raised up to feel as if I don't even exist.
Wishing for hope and faith and not my own peril.
So many like me have stood at the end of a barrel.
But to give into the satisfaction of letting them win.
I may not be pretty, but that would be the ultimate sin.
Hating myself more than anyone ever could.
Getting it ingrained in my brain more than anyone ever should.
Feeling as if I'm not worthy to be a victim.
Just another someone getting ripped off by the system.
And when there is no smile staring back at me,
The depression and lows hit like a semi in the back seat.
The eyes showing the hidden truth most can't see.
Darkness and gloom waivers swirling like thick black tea.
No hope. No glory.
Consumed with the ptsd and shame in my story.
Only the depths of all the traumatic memory.
And even though I look in the mirror at the girl I see
Though I don't feel pretty, I don't have to be
I can be smart and I can be kind
I don't have to be pretty, I have my mind
And although it doesn't help the tears I shed
I'm better off not pretty, then better off dead.
