Pretty is an ugly word.

A Poem by Joshua Kyle

Hey guys, just so you know this poem is completely fictional and not based off of anyone. I hope you enjoyed it. If you know anyone suffering from depression, abuse, or self harm, please please please

Pretty is such an ugly word. A knife carving out what it wants me to be from who I really am. The shavings of my soul hit the floor, and emptiness overtakes me. Fill me up and make me pretty. Its so ugly, but that makes me beautiful right? So with every pound I lose, every meal I throw up, and every pill that I swallow, I start to feel better and that makes it worse. I'm so fucked up now, is there no help for me? I want to be pretty, I want to be full, so I pile on my make up and cover up my scars, stand up a little straighter, you're pretty now... But I'm pretty ugly now, fucked up now, now that I'm home and in the mirror. You can change the outside but the inside stays the same. Hot tears wash away my pretty, and my ugly still remains. Fill me up and make me pretty, I say, I scream into the mirror. Even when I know this is whats slowly emptying me, I want it, I need it, so that I can prove, to all those other girls just how pretty I can be. What little sanity I have left begs me to reconsider, but I assure myself these drugs won't hurt, and everyone is drinking. Deep inside I know this is wrong, but fill me up and make me pretty. They say he's a nice guy and that he'll never hurt me, I give him everything, yet still he want more, till I'm broken, I'm bleeding, left alone pregnant in the rain. Fill me up and make me pretty. Mental, verbal, physical abuse, from everyone around me. Shaping me, molding me, do "I" even exist? No one will listen, no one will care, there is nothing left for me, of me. So what makes me strive to be everything I hate? To harm myself and everything around me? What is wrong with me? So. I've become my mothers nightmare. I've become a casualty. Some remember who I was, but others know me new. As they sit in this church and stare at my body, no one sheds a tear, they all recall up in their heads just what I became instead. A s**t, a cheat, a w***e, a drug addict, an emo rebellious b***h, a bad example, a lying daughter who cried for help but no one came for her, a broken shadow of soul, just an empty shell. Just to bad they say, as they cover their childrens eyes, a damn shame really, such a bright future she had, she should have at least stayed for the baby, wonder what happened, thats what every last one of them says. But they're the ones who put me here, when they told me what to be. I never should have listened but that was my mistake. I let you brand my heart, you said you'd make me pretty, you said you'd fill me up. I was so naive, you drained me dry and let me hang myself , in a puddle of my tears. Is this what you call pretty? I'll tell you about pretty now that I know what it is myself. As I hung there in my room and breathed my last breath an angel came to me, he said "I'm here to take you to the other side, in death I am your guide" I whispered out my cold dead lips "am I finally pretty?" He touched my unseen heart and it began to beat again "You are beautiful and blameless beyond compare that word won't do you justice" without another word I am full at last and I can pierce your soul and know, that "pretty" is an ugly word. I am free.