Not So Beautifully Broken

My pain is not pretty,
and my suffering is not delicate.
The romaniticzation of my demons
is quite utterly ridiculous,
and stupendously silly.

The scars that line
my wrist and thighs
are not art.
They show that
my mental state is crumbling.

My ribs that poke out
and my refusal of meals
isn't a sign of strength.

My stomachaches,
dizziness,
and headaches don't make me strong.

It's a sign of me
craving for control in my life,
though the control
is killing me.

The sad dullness in my eyes
isn't mysterious.
It's just sad.

My anxiety attacks
and hands that shake nonstop
is not cute.
The stuttering in my speech
is not adorable.

My mental state
is not there for you to admire,

I am broken for the world to see,
and it is not beautiful.