i wrote this a while back, but i never got to posting it here, so here it is, it's got a bit of my life mixed in, but that's near the end, nothing you should be thinking hard on.

(ALL OF THIS IS FROM MO'S POV)

Nothing is ever going to get better.

I'm running my hands over my sides, there's just a bunch of bones and bumps, not to mention the many scars I have there that have recently healed, I think I remember one saying 'twig' or something along the lines of that, and I won't lie; inside all of that 'swag' is a fragile branch waiting to be broken.

It's true, I'm not and I never was confident in myself, lots of people saw a striking handsome young man while others saw a kind warm hearted fellow, but I to be honest didn't see any, I just saw the most fucked up think living on the planet; I saw me, and I didn't want to see myself any longer.

So what did I do, being the hopeless teenager I was? I went into angst phases:

Phase 1: Self harm; it took me a while to sneak a razor into my room without my parents noticing, they were always worried about me and how slim I was, they would never listen to me when I told them that it was just how I was and it was not going to change, maybe because I added 'this skinny ass black gremlin is here to stay' and stormed off most of the time.

But when I cut the back of my hand to try it out, it felt too good, watching my blood trickle down my fingers, it felt refreshing, I felt that watching my blood flow was letting out all of my bad emotions, so it continued, it became an addiction, I would spend endless nights just cutting whilst curled up in my bed.

But my parents found out, and now they're, how can I put this;

INTERROGATING ME.

Phase 2: Adding to my 'natural' anorexia; after my self harm incident, I was a bit paralised in my mind, nothing was processing right for me, I saw blurry shit and everything anywhere I went, so I ended up locking myself in my room for about a week, trying my best to just live off of the water I had left.

Saturday my dad breaks down the door and scares the living shit out of me, making me go more mental.

You see my dad, he had an axe in his hands, he'd never carry one of those, not even if his life depended on it…

And phase 3: depression; it's the phase I am still in, many people, including all of my friends, they see a smile every day when I am with them, but to me, that smile screams sadness, it's just that nobody can see it, people have come and go, brains have remembered and forgotten,

I've been pushed back further because now I just don't 'fit in', being different is not cool or 'dope' it's fucking hell, just because you differ from other people you get treated differently, I didn't ask for this, and nobody will listen.

So it's come to this, now I'm just waiting for the next day in the hopes that something good will come up, although I know it'll be rare that happens, it's worth a try, once a year maybe.

Because right now, behind all of these bones and bumps and scars, behind my 'smile', behind the happy dancing and 'awesome times' I don't really experience, is just a hollow and fragile branch, waiting to be broken.

And as long as that part of me stays inside, nothing is ever going to get better.

And I'll stay slim forever.