I lay on my back at night. I stare at the black ceiling. I move my hands down the side of my body until I feel my hip. I dig at my hip to feel the hip bone, I cherish it. I like knowing I have it there, that I can one day see it just when I stand up.
I sit up straight in my vanity. I stare at myself as I push my hair back. I see my makeup and still feel unsatisfied. Until, that is, I suck in and revive the collarbone from underneath. I see it and plaster on a fake smile and I feel pretty.
I stand in my room with dim lights. I stare at my body examining it in my mirror. I pick and criticize everything. I suck in my tummy and arch my back, I stick my leg out to make them longer and thin. Its until I cannot breathe, until I am no longer hungry, until I no longer walk straight, until I'm no longer me, that I feel PRETTY.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts Of A Broken Girl
PoetryWARNING this is my safe-space. Please understand I've written these over years. Im not a freshman in high-school anymore so I like to think it gets less cringe. But welcome to my mind.
