Ink stains in a notebook

Beauty

I feel worthless. I feel like I do not have purpose. But tell me, does that mean I'm wordless? No. I have plenty of words, but they are not kind toward me. I wish I had beauty, a beauty that others could see. I don't. It's okay. The only beauty I have is inside of me. Beauty isn't everything, but it is what makes others love you. Love is no longer determined by a feeling one has for another, but by the way one is perceived physically. So basically, I stand no chance. All these painful feelings make me dizzy. I know others will say, "You're just in a tizzy. Maybe if you'd quit being so busy, you may actually show traits of what we call pretty." Thanks. That advice really helps me feel better. No, the truth is, I'm tired of your endless, soul-crushing chatter. From it, what am I supposed to learn? All you chatter is causing me to burn. To burn with not anger, but rage. Because of you, I am filled with self-hate. I want someone to save me before it is too late. Will someone come, or will I be left here with a shattered heart, and nothing to heal my wounds and scars. You've done nothing but rip and tear me apart. Now what am I supposed to do? Go back to start? This isn't monopoly, this is my heart. It's slightly different than a game of pretend money and cards. My heart is real, and each card you play has an ever so painful effect. Each card you play affects the way in which I connect to the world and its different sects. Here's a question: to which sect do I belong? I want one with more than just a religious song, one where I truly belong, and one where I'm not too far gone. But is that too much to ask? Am I just a broken bone with a big, inconvenient cast? In this state, how much longer will I last? It can't be long, I don't want to prevent others from having a blast. But at the same time, I do not understand why I must feel the pain for which I did not ask.