My sweater draped over my skinny frame…

An unwashed hoodie clings to my sick body, and I’m to blame.

My hair, a messy bun, shower day tomorrow…

Left unwashed and unbrushed, tied up, because I can’t get out of my sorrow.

Yummy chocolates for a treat because of the lady days…

Sugar cravings and vomit, it’s my arms that are bleeding, as I’m surrounded in late assignments and essays.

“Delulu is the selulu,” well, not when you can’t tell what’s real and what’s your own creation!

“So bipolar right?!” Until they cry and they cut, suddenly hyper and in a bankrupt situation!

Yes, call me a “snowflake” because I bring light to this,

I’m sorry my mental health isn’t able to be glamorized into “pensive sorrow” and “a midnight kiss.”

I know, what a bitch! I may be a poet but I write the plain truth,

I don’t care if you enjoy the tropes, the drama, the disaffected youth!

I like my writing ugly, it’s truer that way!

Pretty prose and poetic words just get in the way!