endure gracefully.
bleed beautifully.
but never too much,
never enough to make them uncomfortable.

cry.
but wipe your tears when you're done.
open your eyes wider,
don't look so depressed,
you're ruining the photo.

girly you can text me anytime
until we actually do
then its,
im not ur ******* therapist.
and a lingering guilt.

why has mental illness also produced standards we must meet,
standards in order to be accepted.
why are some shunned and some welcomed?

we are not an aesthetic.
not broken people in soft lighting.

i scream,
i rot,
i flinch when someone shows me affection,
i hate being hugged,
but still crave it the most.
am i still worthy of love?