june 30th, 2017
there is no reason i would need a pair of scissors in the restroom. there is no reason i should feel metal drag across my skin and drain the blood from within my tattered mind.
i tell myself i deserve it as the lines quickly turn scarlet, sinking into jeans thick to keep anyone from seeing. i run my hands over my thighs and feel the pain- kind of in the same way i do when
i stand in the echoed silent shower. i used to sing in there but i don't anymore. my legs sting and burn from the hot water but i let them.
i keep standing there. thinking how my family is unaware of what i am pretending to be. standing in the mirror and feeling pretty is so much more difficult and emotional for me than it used to be
AND I AM IN PAIN. I RESPOND TO PEOPLE WHEN THEY SAY MY NAME
BUT A PIECE OF ME DIES REALIZING THAT IT IS ME THEY ARE REFERRING TO
BECAUSE TRULY
I HATE BEING HER. I HATE BEING MY MONSTROUS SOUL AND MY DISABLED HEART
I HATE I HATE I HATE
and soon,
there's three more lines added
to my adorned thighs
of defying
red.
