Dark Poetry

My Ugliness

The door was locked.

I stood in front of the mirror in my room.

I hated the face I saw.

How ugly it was, no words could express.

But those words echoed in my head. I started to cry.

That was even uglier.

Crying wouldn’t change anything... then why do I cry?

Because there is nothing more I can do but angrily punch and kick the walls and rip up my notebooks and throw things until everything is a mess.

Then sit there, in front of that mirror and cry.

How ugly everything was, this room, this house, the owners of this house, those houses around it, and the world that contained those houses.

How ugly I was...

How flawed the logic of this world? How flawed I was...

How I hated my life, how I hated myself.

All those emotions wrapped up into something small enough to fit into this body I was trapped in.

They were ripping apart my insides, digging holes in my lungs, stabbing my guts, cutting open my heart, eating up my brain.

I could no longer think, no longer breath, no longer feel.

How ugly those emotions were, no one but I would understand.

How ugly everyone around me saw my ugly self, no one but they would understand.

Then why express yourself in a way that would corrupt another’s soul when none of your words even make sense?

‘You’ll never make it.‘

‘You’re too stupid.’

‘You’re a disgrace to our family.’

‘Just what do you think you are?’

Just what do you think you are, letting those ugly words spill from between your lips?

Just what do you think I am, wounding my pride and trust with those hateful statements?

Is it the fact that you have experienced more than I give you the right to criticize me?

Do you think you know what I’m going through just because you’ve been at my age?

The answer is no.

You didn’t have to deal with you.

But I do.

Everyday of the year and every hour of the day, I am dying under the pressure you hammer into me.

You throw me through everything expecting me to achieve 120% in 0 time.

Let me ask you: if you were to do those things, could you achieve 120% in 0 time?

The truth is no, but you will always answer yes.

You lie.

And yet, you tell me not to.

Why do my friends’ mothers care and think about their children’s feelings but you don’t?

Aren’t you my mother?

I wish you acted more like it.

You scream and shout every single day, regarding the matters of my laziness.

You claim that you do all the work while I lay around and do nothing.

But you’re wrong.

I’ve tried, over and over in attempted to assist you with your chores.

But over one little mistake, you slam your foot to the ground and your fists connect with my body.

And now, I fear your sudden and unreasonable wrath.

‘Quit drawing all the time! What are you, some artist?!’

But I love to draw...

‘Quit those piano classes! It’s a waste of time and money! It’s not like you play good anyways!’

But I love to be able to play the music I love...

‘Turn the fucking radio off and quit singing along with the songs they play. Your voice and singing sucks!’

But I love singing those heartbreaking love songs because I want to know how it feels to love and be loved...

‘Shut off the computer! You need to stop reading those stupid articles! It’s a total waste of electricity!’

But I love to learn different things from educational articles...

‘What the hell is with your notebook? It’s fill with useless words, you aren’t an author!’

But I love to write; I love to be able to freely express myself...

‘Quit your stupid dreams and fantasies!’

But those are the only things that I live for...

And sometimes, you make a big deal out of little things.

‘What the hell did you do with the car keys?!’

“I didn’t touch them.”

‘Like hell you didn’t! Go fucking find them!!’

And 5 minutes later, those very keys are found, lying on your table in your room.

There was no apology for your wrongness.

No look of embarrassment.

You just move on, still angry over nothing.

‘Go to your room.’

And I comply.

There was no use arguing.

You won’t listen.

I didn’t want to be punished.

And once I reach my room, the door is closed and locked with an unheard ‘click’.

I hear the garage door close as your car leaves the driveway.

I wait until everything is completely silent and you are completely gone.

I reach out to my bed and snatch a pillow.

I screamed, stuffing my face into that pillow.

I don’t stop screaming.

I scream and yell and storm around my little room.

Until, my voice becomes hoarse and my energy has run out.

I sink to the carpet floor of my room and cry.

I look up and find myself in front of that mirror.

How ugly I looked.

I reached up to my desk.

How ugly I felt.

I grabbed the scissors.

How ugly my soul was.

I snapped them in my hands.

How ugly my thoughts.

I opened them all the way.

How ugly my life.

I smiled bitterly in the mirror and pressed the blade to my neck.

How ugly my death will be.