don’t write about me

i am not easy on the eyes.

i am sandpaper

and skin,

made of flesh and bone

tired of caving in,

and frankly,

is sorry that it still hasn't

collapsed.

when i met my reflection

it screamed.

fluorescent lights

don't look good on me

just like everything else.

i am not the girl

i would write poetry about.

i am not putting anything

except recycled words

into this world

and no one wants to read

dried blood on paper.

even the insane

can't see anything

in my spilled ink,

and everybody's already had

the thoughts that i think,

so what's the point?

i'm a fuck-up

that fucked up being worthless.

i am not the girl

i would write poetry about.