Living ironically

Joan of arc

He's not the type to say I'm beautiful, he'd say what a cutie.
And I feel stuck in a rut, yet another mindless routine.
Was I being Joan of arc selfless or setting myself free?

I've got struggling sparks in my heart that fade to embers.
I've got scars on my brain that still remember every time I told myself that I really didn't matter.
Serving up my heart on a gleaming silver platter.
With each and every moment I only got sadder