Unspoken Words

one

"There's something wrong."

They say amongst each other.

Maybe there is something wrong, i just don't know what it is.

Maybe it's me.

Maybe there's something wrong with me; my dark skin, my earth eyes, my brown coils, my crooked smile and my imperfect body.

i never was the prettiest, and i never was the ugliest. i was in the middle, mediocre, an option people took with a shrug.

nights upon nights i searched for reasons as to why i was and still am so imperfect. so dark, so crooked, so... me.

"you're perfect."

a lie.

if i am perfect why do my thighs, breasts and hips have lines filled with genetic detail of painful growth?

why do the demons in my head whisper and chant when i'm alone in the dark?

why does the chocolate complexion of my skin make me hate myself?

if i am perfect, why do i restrict my body of nutrition to the point of releasing my previous meals?

"you have a lot of love."

yes.

but none for myself.

i am empty, like a vessel.

like a starving baby crying in the dead of night, my demons cry out to my soul.

they wake me from my slumber and whisper,

"you're ugly. nobody will love you."

of course.

i can barely love myself anyways. and when i do, the demons of the outside world come searching for my unforgettable scent of self doubt and self pity.

pity.

what everyone feels for me & what i feel for myself.

i'd like to lie, and say i'm beautiful.

i love my hair, my hips, my breasts, and the curve of my backside.

i shrug the acceptance of my features just like others shrug the acceptance of me.

her.

it's ok though.

i've drawn more lines on my body,

my story seeps from my veins and out into the world for the four walls of the bathroom to see.

i get no response.

no response but my faint whimpers and pleas of acceptance.

accept me, please.

they call out to me, accept yourself. 

i can't. i've tried and searched and bargained, but i can't.

there is something wrong.

yes.

it's me.