broken promises, broken skin and broken heart

just blood, skin and bones.

I am just blood, skin and bones.

I am blood, whether that's inside my body or on the bathroom floor. In my veins or in the little viles at the hospital they use to see if you've damaged your liver with them painkillers you took a couple too many of.

I am blood, whether that's it being pumped through my capillaries or if it's staining the new hoodie covering my purple and red lined arms, hiding all the sins against myself.

I am skin, purple, pink and white. Skin I wish was less pale, with less stubble and spots. Skin I cover with makeup, baggy clothes and fake tan. That I try to distract from by cutting and dying my hair as often as the weather changes.

I am skin, bruised and battered by frustration taken out on myself. Skin covered with stretch marks around my hips and thighs and cellulite like a blanket coating my bottom.

I am skin, too much of it. Too much skin. I pinch it and wish i could take my sewing scissors and remove it, I wish I could mold my features like plasticine to how I wish they were, how others would prefer me.

I am bones, bones which I wish were longer or shorter to make me more desirable. Bones, "big bones" making me look too masculine to be seen as the perfect girl, yet too dainty to be a real boy.

I am bones, bones I would try to break at the ripe age of six, so I could feel the perfect pain of it but more so, so that people would show me they cared for me. Bones I would try to fracture so I could get just a fraction of my peers attention.

I am bones, bones I can't see enough of in the mirror. Bones that are covered with skin in excess, that is shown by the measurements on the tape measure i hide under my bed and on the scale I step onto before every shower.

I am just blood, skin and bones.