Songs to Stories

idontwannabeyouanymore by Billie Eilish

"Okay turn towards me... Yes, very good," The photographer instructs me, and I pull down the small dress that is slipping up uncomfortably.

I pose like I do on any other set, and my manager is watching my every move. I know what he'll say, but I just want to go home.

"Okay, and we're done!" The man in front of me puts down his camera, and I finally put down my smile.

Losing feeling's getting old.

"We could have been done hours ago if you had done a better job," My manager whisper-shouts at me, grabbing my hand to bring me to the car.

"I'm sorry, I'm so tired, I didn't eat today," I whisper frantically, and I really hope no one else hears us.

"Your hands are even getting cold, take care of yourself," He instructs me as we get in the car, and I shift uncomfortably. I'm still in this tight ass dress, and I can't wait to get into my pajamas.

"But you are still on that diet I told you to go on, right?" He asks sharply, and I nod quickly.

"Good, now why are you squirming?" 

"This dress is too tight," I complain, and he narrows his eyes at me.

"A tight dress is what makes you a whore, just like the rest of the models in L.A. You're fine, Mr. Sanchez, drive," Our driver automatically takes off down the road, and I can feel that numbing in my chest. The things he says to me instills hurt in me that I can never shake.

We soon arrive at my house that is too big, and I step out of the car. When I turn around to say goodbye, the car is already out of my driveway.

In this occupation you think people would praise you and your work. But the reality of it all is that models are stomped over like pets. Yes, people might think I am pretty, but do I?

The second I get into my house I take off that awful dress. I leave it on my couch, along with the matching heels, and go straight to my bathroom. The giant mirror greets me when I walk in, and I wish it never said 'hello'. I can see the stretch marks that are so ugly they look like scars. I can see my stomach that is never small enough. I can see my collar bones that are never prominent enough. I can see everything about myself.

I show everyone what I want them to see, I never tell the truth. That's how it should be. I fall apart twice a day, but I shouldn't be that way. I don't why I can't keep my shit together. Maybe the universe made me from a broken mold, and my soul came out a little fucked up. I don't know why I'm like this.

I can see a tear fall from my eye, and a dam seems to break loose. No matter how many I wipe away, they just reappear over and over. A sob that sounds like a scream rips from my throat, and I stumble back from the mirror. The floor feels cold when my knees hit it harshly, and my body feels limp and tired. 

It feels like ages when I'm able to get back to my feet again. If I do get on my feet, I might fall.

The makeup I once wore is smeared down my face, and you can see my natural freckles. I look like a mess and a half. When I walk closer to the mirror, I rest my hand close to my reflection. My hazel eyes that used to be full of light look lifeless, and I wish I could go back.

"I don't want to be you anymore," My voice barely even comes out, but I hear it. The words are out before I can even think. 

One last tear falls down my face, but I don't bother to wipe it away this time. 

"I don't want to be you anymore,"