"You're taught that you're beautiful on the inside.

That it doesn't matter what their eyes can see because what's beneath that surface of scratches and imperfections is what makes people truly love you.

So every day when I put on my makeup

I see my eyes glaze over because deep down I know that as flawless as I make my outside

it's the disaster inside that will determine if I am loved.

There's no concealer thick enough, no foundation matte enough to smooth the ragged edges of my shattered emotions. No blush to bring color to my black and white thinking.

I can't fool their minds like I could their eyes

at some point they'll look closer and see the personality disorder hiding in the corner like some surprised child shocked they've been found this early in a game of hide-and-seek.

I'm taught that this monster inside me is supposed to be the most beautiful part of me

and I suppose there is a dark beauty in the way a knife slices through skin.

Because all that's inside of me are weapons that will some day be mishandled somewhere in the confusion of a moment with my sight blurred by emotions I can't control instead of reaching within myself and grabbing grace to mend my conflict I will grasp a rope and string every disgusting moment up for the world to see like polaroids

one conflict might pull out the intertwined workings of everytime I held things in because I knew I was flawed

Although not acted upon they need to go somewhere so i knit them up. A blanket that drapes across my insides overshadowing any small piece of beauty that might exist inside me.

So i lock that blanket up, store everything away

and just pray that our society continues to judge by the cover and never attempts to read my book."