He says to me, ‘You’re beautiful’,
Every single day.
So why do I find it so difficult,
To see the truth in the words you say?
I am not ‘beautiful’
I am darkened by my pain,
Forever haunted by the memories in my head,
Afraid I’m not good enough,
Never free from the sickness of my insanity,
Desensitised to love,
Knowing a normal family life,
Is not something I will ever have.
So, do you still think I’m ‘beautiful?’
Or are these just words you say,
To replace what you’re truly thinking,
A cover up, a game.