The problem is
If I still starved and cut
People would care
Because I would be destroying my outer-self
They don't care that you are anorexic and depressed
As long as you don't bring physical harm to your body
The pain inside never matters because they can't see it
Well I hate my face
I hate everything about my body
My ugly arms and legs
Scarred, dry, cracked, ******
Ugly ugly ugly
Face too square
Unfeminine jawline
Eyebrows too thick
Nose too wide
Hair too bland
Eyes the color of dried blood
And ugly ugly brown
There is nothing I can do though that hurts me
When I try to fix it
The worst thing I could do
Would be to put on too much make up
They can't see how much I hate my f*cking ugly self
But I can't hurt myself
So it doesn't matter
Who cares
Ugly can't be diagnosed
So clearly I am not ill in the mind
I am just ugly
Only no one pays attention
To that
Because they can't see that pain
The way they could when I could count all my ribs
And I slashed my wrists
They can't see it
And I can't either
But I can FEEL IT
Even if it doesn't hurt on the outside
It hurts on the inside

How to deal with an addiction to hellopoetry:

Step one: Admit you have a problem

Step two: Start by limiting your time on it

Step three: Join a support group and share your feelings

Step four: Have the people in the support group talk to you about quitting hellopoetry.

Step 5: Slaughter everyone within a 10 mile radius with a chainsaw and go back on hellopoetry

Step 6: When the police knock on your door offer to help them sign up for hellopoetry.

Step 7: Creepily pet your chainsaw like a cat.

Step 8: Never mind, I'm too busy on hello poetry

You
Me
Them
They
Us
Her
Him

I need a break from all of that. No more memories. Please. Just stop.

I have run out of words to express myself.

I think I'm losing myself

In my obsession with beauty

Because I can't. ever. be. beautiful.

And there isn't a word

To explain

THIS kind of self-loathing.

Apologies for my breakdown a little earlier.
Expect more.
I'm a very emotionally unstable person.

Okay, new rule:
My friends who I love are not allowed to die on me ever.
I don't want to have to find out like the friends and classmates of this student did today.
Don't. Die.
I don't want to be called into class to be told that you died.
Don't you dare die on me
Because I won't survive.

Yeah I totally love being single!
You can do what you want whenever you want without obligations or having to think about anyone else you can flirt shamelessly with as many guys as you like, there is no pressure to look good for anyone I love that I have all this me time where I can spend a Saturday night reading and listening to the music I like without trying to decode mixed signals in text messages
I never have to depend on anyone but myself.
No one is stressing me out by depending on me.
I can sit by myself on the couch home alone when everyone else is out
And feel completely isolated, unloved and unlovable
I can feel so ugly and obsess over it
I can scroll through pictures of pretty celebrities and models and girls I know online bitterly wishing I looked like them and could be like them so that maybe someone would notice me and give me a chance
I can scream at the radio for playing stupid love songs
I can eat ice cream and chocolate wondering why I am such a waste of space
Thinking of all the guys who have rejected me and dropped me over the years
Have no one to love
Or who loves me
No guy I can trust with my secrets and loyalty
No one who needs me
No one to want
Or make me feel wanted
To spend nights together
Just talking
And watching movies
Being cutesy and flirty with
Lie hand in hand with
No one I can gush about to my friends
No one I can bake for
No one I can buy stuff for, just 'cause
No one I can do random couples stuff with
No one in my life
It's pretty great.
I love being single.

Nine little candles
Standing strong
Against the wind
Through the night for so long
Three white candles
Three extinguished toughened fighters
Because one black candle
Had to burn brighter
The one black candle
With all these tricks
Blew out the three white candles
And then there were six
Six little candles
Melting down
But black candle's light is growing dimmer
hope is no where to be found
Black candle's not a candle now
Now she's just a lit fuse
When time runs out until the explosion
Then she will know what it's like to lose
Six little candles
Has lost all but two
The former black candle
And one white candle left too
But even flames can whisper rumors
The burning fuse is done
She lost the other eight white candles
And then there was one.

Careful.
I'm a backstabbing *****.
I'll ***** up your life so bad you won't even recognize it.
At least that's what people say.
Them.
From many year ago, the people I knew who never knew me.
Careful.
It might be true
Or it might be as fake as the ******* who told it to you.

Wow. You ****.
Free of any metaphors or similes, hardly a poetic phrase but made out of extreme hurt and hatred because that is really all I have left to say to you.
If you can apply this to anyone or anything in your life, then repost.