ROBOTS OR DINOSAURS?
stop calling me beautiful.
my scars are not beautiful. i spent nights sobbing and dragging a razor over my skin because i could not cope with life. not because i wanted you to kiss my scars and make me promise to never cut again.
my body is not beautiful. i still starve myself everyday and i run until my legs collapse under myself. i have to be skinny, i have to be thin because i have always been fat. not because i want to be some girl who’s pretty enough for you.
my moods are not beautiful. i cannot control my euphoria or desolation and it’s not because i want to be like this. i want it all to end, i wish i could erase my bipolar off my mind. god knows i’ve tried but alcohol isn’t a memory wipe. i want to forget to make myself less miserable. not to seem more appealing to you.
my mental illness has nothing to do with you. hence why it is my mental illness, not yours. i am not some beautiful girl who’s broken and wants a guy to fix her.
i am a four a.m breakdown, i am a hurricane like no other, i am a death you could never say goodbye to.
i am not beautiful.