skinned
everyone's skin
was soft and smooth
with cute peach fuzz
and pretty nails
but my skin is rough
and callused, covered
with scars and eczema
so they clobbered together
to skin it, until not even i
could tell who i was
anymore
basket case
i wish i was
the romanticized
aesthetic basket case
with grunge clothes
and black, dry hair,
chaotic and strange
but instead, i am
the psych ward patient
with bright lines
and bloodied peeling fingertips
from being chewed raw
and in public, being yelled at,
"are you jealous when
your phone dies?"
and i don't know how
to respond when i have
a life like this
YOU ARE READING
poetry
Poetrypoetry with no rhyme or rain most of these r rlly old and embarrassing but im keeping them for the lore
