You make me Happy

Sometimes I think I’m just a mess of badly drawn lines.

I’m just scrawled veins beneath paper rough skin, I wear poorly sketched scars on my thighs [skin deep red pen lines] and even my smile is lop-sided- but he never seemed to notice.

My skin [spread like thick icing over my skeleton] is a monotonous pattern of pores, a stretch of the world the sun never kissed.

I can’t see the beauty in multitudes of freckles and chipped fingernails- but he does.
-‘why do you love me?’
-‘you make me happy.’