Beautiful, Black Butterfly (Emo Prose)

I kept hidden behind a cloud of black smoke. I dyed my hair, blackened my outfits, and smoked a shit-ton of cigarettes to make my insides as black as my outsides. I wanted to feel the darkness surround me like a black cloak of midnight. I wanted to hide: from the sun, the stars, and the cruelty of men. In the blackness, in the darkness, I can find myself. I can find the girl I once was and remember all the things my childhood wasn't. I'll remember my mommy holding me instead of hitting me. I'll remember my daddy kissing my forehead instead of spitting on it. I'll remember having friends; lots of them. I won't know the lonely, goth girl I was back in prep school. No. I will only know of a good life. When I'm surrounded by black smoke, life seems to be okay again. Everything makes sense again. I'm not running around, hopelessly demanding both answers as well as forgiveness. I'm not crying, or having to hold back tears. I'm me. The blackness is a part of me. Here, I don't have an ugly face to hide. I am beautiful. Here, I don't feel pain. I feel only relief: like an endless sigh after a long summer's day, like the smell of rain, like waking up to a steaming cup of coffee, like smoking a cigarette and filling that hole within. Hiding has become easy, and free. The light is what condemns me. Sometimes, when I cover my body with a black veil, I can feel little pieces of myself that died long ago being reborn, I can feel scars being healed, my body being renewed, and my soul at ease. When I'm in black, nothing bothers me. I can smile to those that hurt me. I can look into a mirror, and smile, instead of wanting to throw it to the ground and use the shattered shards of glass to pierce my pain skin until I bleed. When I wear black, I am beautiful. I don't need rubies or crimson or droplets-of-joy to drip drip drip down my body. I don't need to bleed anymore. The blackness satisfies the longing in me. I can take a drag of my cigarette and smile because of the black smoke leaking between my black lips. My black eyes search the halls. I can see all of them looking, judging. I can see all of them wondering why a girl dressed in all black looks so much happier than they are. Well, blackness is the only kind of beauty I've ever known. With it, I've grown into a beautiful, black butterfly. I fly away.