Stressor

Becoming accustomed to that pain,
The centre of your chest,
Your self-esteem slain,
Why, you ask,
Why.
It's for the best.

Self-hatred,
Only cuts can make you feel better,
An escape, a punishment,
For failures of the past,
And the future,
Why, you ask, why.
To make yourself better.

You break your bones,
Laughter at inattention,
Colours and doodles on the cast.
You break your heart,
No pens nor glitter can fix,
Only tears and time.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, they say,
They don't know about disorder,
The malevolence that comes after,
A loathing state of mind,
With no rapturous subconscious,
All towards yourself,
For the past you can't put aside,
For the beast within you try your best to hide.

Get a grip, they say,
Buck up,
Stop it,
You're being emotional,
Keep your priorities straight.

They do not understand.

They do not
Understand