Beautiful

Am I like you?

Because I’m not sure anymore

Sure it’s true

Cut me and I will bleed red for sure

I know because it has happened

Drops of red coming from my thigh

No I didn’t try to get away

It was my own hand that did the crime

I didn’t feel much pain

I wanted to see if I could still feel

The numbness engulfing me I could take no more

I fought it off, the guilty conscience needing some coaxing

It was not the first nor the last

It happened many a time

Ever since I remember

I’ve wanted what others avoided

Wanting to be the canvas of pain

The beautiful watercolor it creates

The streaks of red and the blobs of purple, black and blue

Wanting to be its masterpiece, and its alone

Wanting that attention which that beauty brings

Feeling I deserved to be that beautiful

I had nothing else why could I not have that

But life does not color me enough

I take the brush into my own hand

Hoping to feel better and create some worth for myself

But I never do truly satisfy

I don’t know why for I’ve dreamt of beauty since that young age 

maybe I’ve got it all wrong

I know I’m not like you but I can’t help it, 

you are naturally beautiful I must work for it Or maybe I don’t need to work at all, 

and this portrait of misery that is under the surface of the canvas is my own doing 

The beautiful surface and the horrific interior, no wonder I feel inferior