I stare at my reflection in the mirror:
"Why am I doing this to myself?"
Losing my mind on a tiny error,
I nearly left the real me on the shelf.
Lavender Brown, the school slag. That's what they call me, and here I am shoving the load of make-up I always cover myself in. Covering the scars, the scars of my past. The spots, the scars, the face. My face.
A tear falls down my face, for the third time today, and it is only lunchtime. Looking in the mirror in the school toilets, lining my eyes in eye-liner. Making a mistake with my shaking hand.
Stupid whore Lavender, I mutter to myself. Rubbing off the eye-liner, so hard my face is raw, red and sore. Trying again, trying to stop the tears, doing a line of eye-liner, decent but thick. Ah well, guys don't like the real me. I laugh, doing the other eye, slightly pleased I didn't muck up that one. Mascara, poke myself in the eye, ow. Doesn't matter, Lavender, because you deserve pain.
More foundation, more powder, bronzer and blusher. Do I look like myself? No? Good, I pull my skirt up a little higher, and rubbing my bleeding heels. High heels to make me better. What's the point in me?
"You will only be good to anyone dead. What's the point of being you?" That's what he said, and he's right. I have a boyfriend, and friends. Friends who think I am a slag, a boyfriend who thinks I am easy.
Done, me covered, slag showing through.
Don't lose who you are in the blur of the stars!
Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing,
It's okay not to be okay.
Sometimes it's hard to follow your heart.
Tears don't mean you're losing, everybody's bruising,
Just be true to who you are!
Hermione Granger walks into the toilets, the girl I wish I was. The perfect girl, beautiful, kind, caring and clever. A use to someone. Though she's been through pain, she has delt with it, a better person than me.
"Are you crying" she asks tentatively. "No" I reply, ignoring the stupid, selfish tears.
"It's ok to cry..." she mumbles, and she touches my shoulder, the girl, who I took the love of her life from, comforts me.
Tears fall, slipping down my cheeks, taking a trail of black with them.
Leaning into her arms, feeling fed up of covering me up.
"Don't worry about what I think, you can have Ron..." She tries to comfort, no I can never be that kind. To give up the one I love. I sniff, nod, and walk out of the toilets.
Brushing my hair, do I look perfect?
I forgot what to do to fit the mold, yeah!
The more I try the less it's working, yeah
'Cause everything inside me screams
No, no, no, no, no...
Up to my bedroom, trying again. More eye-liner, more make up more fake. Though all I can see is me trying to get out. My freckles peaking through the make-up, my slouchy walk stepping into the heels.
Did I just sing, no I shouldn't do that.
All I can do is cover it up. Powder falls on the floor – I feel angry. Why? I shouldn't be clumsy! But a little voice in my head screams "I am clumsy!"
Point my wand at the floor, whore's don't use magic, but I do anyway. I punish myself for doing so, like he punished me. I trace the scars, the scars of my past.
Don't lose who you are in the blur of the stars!
Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing,
It's okay not to be okay.
Sometimes it's hard to follow your heart.
But tears don't mean you're losing, everybody's bruising,
There's nothing wrong with who you are!
I picture Hermione's face, she is herself, she is perfect. Works hard and gets good grades. But I can never get grades. But she said not to cry.
She comforted me, she said that I could have Ron. Why do I care, he doesn't love me.
I then cut my wrist, blood good blood. Red and pure, the only pure part of me. He said so anyway. I rub the blood around my scars. Remembering the hundreds of times I have done this before.
I taste the blood, like he did. The way he licked my wrists. Telling me that is the only good part of me.
But Hermione told me it's ok to cry. I push this thought foreward, trying to eradicate the thoughts of the summer holiday before sixth year.
I was legal then, he said. And then the cuts came, the blood the pain, the sorrow.
Him, throwing me on that bed, the red sheets, so he wouldn't have to clean them – that's what he said. Biting me, cutting, ingraving his mark. I touch my left breast at the thought of it. The scar is still there. The scar of his marks on my face are still there. He ripped off my clothes, telling me I was dirty, worst than a mudblood. He thrusted into me, causing blood, to drip onto the red sheets. That's why he chose them. He had pulled out that knife. And cut. I remember screaming, he just laughed, telling me that I was useless. Worse than a Mudblood...
Yes, no's, egos, fake shows, like WHOA!
Just go, and leave me alone!
Real talk, real life, good love, goodnight,
With a smile, that's my home!
That's my home, no...
But Hermione's a mudblood. She is good. I begin to heal my bleading wrist. If Hermione can live without hurting herself – why should I?
I rub off the make up. Wiping off the orange foundation, and black eye-liner. I rub off the make – up.
I rub off the fake. I smile at me. The first time in years. Looking at the freckily me. The natural me. I pull on my jeans, I make them less tight. Pulling on a hooded jacket.
No, no, no, no, no...
Don't lose who you are in the blur of the stars!
Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing,
It's okay not to be okay...
Sometimes it's hard to follow your heart.
Tears don't mean you're losing, everybody's bruising,
Just be true to who you are!
Yeah yeah yeah
Me, I sing a note. Do my scales. Pull out my hidden song book. Laugh, and sing the first song:
Tears don't mean you're losing, everybody's bruising,
Just be true to who you are!
Hermione is right, just be true to who you are. There's nothing wrong with who you are.