Beautiful

An inner monologue of someone struggling to find self-worth.

Pluck my heart strings,

play a pretty song.

I wont tell you how it stings. 

Hold my hand,

tell me I was never wrong.

I can't tell you how it hurts to stand.

My bones are cracking,

splinters pierce and jab.

All they know is that I'm slacking. 

The things I feel are fading fast,

It's just an all-consuming stab.

My wounds are festering and vast.

The teeth in my gums are falling out,

red are the color of my eyes.

Within the space of my mind is a drought. 

My feet have walked many a mile,

I am the instrument of my own demise.

To cover all that up I only have to smile.

Pluck my heart strings,

play a pretty song. 

At least then,

I could say I was beautiful.