You think I'm pretty until you've seen me ugly cry at 2 am every morning like clockwork.
You think I'm funny until you've seen me break down in the school bathroom stall because I dropped my pen in class.
You think I'm cool until you've seen me on the floor of my room in the middle of a panic attack.
You think I'm smart until you've seen me get pissed off about the first president of America.
You think I'm perfect until I slip into madness because my eyeliner won't go on evenly.
Seemingly small things, right?
But when you're holding up 30 textbooks, it doesn't take more than a quarter, tossed on the top of your pile for you to lose all your strength and drop every book you've been struggling to hold on to.
So no, it doesn't take much to send me flying over the edge. You've just never seen it.
So until then, don't try to describe me to me.
YOU ARE READING
empty nights
Poetrythis is what's really happening behind your bedroom door, what you feel but can't express without being seen as strange. don't worry, cause darlin I'm a mess too.
