Work Text:
I wish i was as beautiful as the stars
They shine so bright and every one loves them
But i am made of skin and bone
The skin around my nails and lips and face
Is scared and cut from my anxious picking
My nose is just a little to big and my legs just a bit to long
My hair doesnt have much volume and i have a lot of dead ends
Im to thin for people but i look in the mirror and i still think i could be thinner
Why is it that being made of skin and bone is not pretty on me but so perfect on others
I wish i were the stars
They don't have to do much to be loved
Those made of skin and bones must put forth the effort and work
To get something out you must put something in.
Stars are angry balls of fire
Anger doesn't look pretty on your skin and bones
So keep it locked up and don't tell a soul
Save your tears for your pillow and your anger for art
But don't let you art become to personal, because what if they no longer relate
What if your self destruction no longer looks pretty but it looks real
People like it more when you wrap your emotions up
In an easy to digest way
No. save anger for the stars.
It looks better on them anyway