the miserable life of a miserable teenager

I never liked clean manicures, looked too right for me. I prefer stained shirts,

they feel more lived in.

I prefer messy hair,

it feels more accurate.

I prefer chipped nails,

they look filled to me.

Draw on my hands and arms,

because I’m not allowed tattoos.

Also according to my therapist “externalizing” something…

This isn’t a “not like other girls” speech,

more just not like respected humans.

At least the ones I’m surrounded by.

Maybe in hell, I’ll get to be me.