So to be depressed
I have to wear long sleeves and eyeliner?
I have to straiten my hair, and slit my wrists?
Why my wrists?
Why should I dress in a way thats not me?
Why am I so hard to see?
So you roll your eyes when I say I’m depressed?
Am I no different from the people who dress in a manner you recognize as “Emo” or “Scene”?
Simply because I wear boots on some days, sandals, or converse the next
Because I wear bright colors, then dark the next day.
Because I don’t wear skinny jeans?
So I’m not depressed because I don’t hide my wrists?
So I’m not depressed because I smile
Because I laugh
Because I act so normal
I don’t look depressed so I can’t be…
I still self harm
I still feel worthless
I still look in a mirror to see a sick wretched thing
Looks aren’t everything
They are only a surface
Just as the skin I pierce
The surface is simple
Like a stone with a diamond at its heart
Which you say is worthless
And after you throw it against the ground enough times
And only then
When you see its broken heart
Do you see its worth and beauty
But until it breaks you only see a worthless little stone