I stuff my mouth with weed and nicotine,
Praying that it helps.
It makes me feel worse.
I write these words,
This is my muse.
But you hate them.
You hate that I'm happy when I write.
You hate me,
My personality,
My smile,
My style,
My life.
You wish I could be normal.
I do too.
Why I was born like this,
I do not know.
I hate my body.
I hate my emotions.
But I stand strong,
Although I feel myself becoming weaker.
I struggle.
But you still yell and hit me.
I never wanted your validation.
And I don't need it.
