ShadowColorAcid

You tell me that I should stop. That I'm just being stupid. You say you understand. But do you really? Do you see the monster I see every day? The one in the mirror, always smiling. Do you see the scars left on my cheeks from my tears? The ones I caused from the words spoken. Do you see the stitches on my mouth? The ones I have sowed onto myself. Do you see the blood on my hands? The ones seeping into my skin. You still claim to understand me? You know nothing. You're the one who's stupid.

When I was about four, I realized how much I loved being dancing. I would dance to any music that enjoyed, from classical to rock. I would twirl, I would pop, I would to anything to express the way I felt when listening to music. Every time my sister walked by, she would stare at me like I was insane, which I always awkwardly walk away at. When I was six, I realized I loved to draw. My emotions and thoughts were poured onto thin pieces of paper. People marveled at them and told me I was wonderful artist, that the time I believed them. My sister would just walk away and say that she didn't want to hurt my feelings if she did look. When I was

How can you look at yourself? How can you stand by? How can you just listen? How can even smile? How can you be yourself? How can you cause so much pain? How can you cause so much evil? How can you make a living hell? How can you murder those children? How can you pull at our hearts? So tell me, tell us, all of us, what you were thinking when you pulled the trigger? How can you pull that trigger? 26 dead. 20 children. 5 years olds. 6 years olds. 7 years olds. 8 years olds. 9 years olds. 10 years olds. Dead. Tell us.

Why won’t you just let me be me? That’s what you keep saying. Be you. Be you. Be you. But the me you want is not me. The me you have is imperfect in your eyes. People say everyone beautiful. Am I? Is she? Is he? Is everyone truly beautiful? I could have scars. Does that mean I’m still beautiful? She could have small breast. Does that mean she’s still beautiful? He could have miniature muscles. Does that he’s still beautiful? Are we beautiful? Or are we just imperfect? Mistakes? Forgotten. Alone. Broken. You tell us to take off our mask. But you put it there. Hiding us from who we truly are. You tel