SPENT.

I am hideous. 

Horrid. 

Awful. 

Appalling. 

Even with long, extravagant hair. 

Even with a smile that glows brighter than the sun.

Even with curves that mock a valley. 

Hideous. 

But not the physical. 

I am broken. 

Even with a casual grin. 

Even with helping hands. 

Even with the praises of many. 

Broken. 

But not the physical. 

I am weak. 

Even with such strong faith. 

Even when support is given.

Weak. 

But not the physical. 

Definitely not the physical, 

but definitely the mental. 

So many errors and troubles come to pass, 

And I am always the recipient. 

So much buried pain always seems to last, 

Constant reminders, like it's something significant. 

Who is going to actually listen, when hope is way too distant? 

Who is going to comfort me, when the shaking and crying takes over? 

Yell at me if you really desire

All of this exhaustion, and 

Guess who's finally tired. 

More like spent

Needing someone who understands 

Possibly one who I can vent 

Hidden by everyone's happiness

Mine is drained 

Nothing more even remains

But for now life will go on,

That is what I'm wishing upon

No more concerns, 

Just lessons that are going to be learned. 

Pain that is going to have to be dealt with,

However not by scars across my wrist. 

I may be hideous, broken, and weak

But not the physical.