When the music's off and the room gets empty

Mirror

I stand in front of a mirror,

Running my hands down my stomach,

Sucking in my ribs,

Looking at the scars no one noticed.

I curl my lip in disgust—

At what I am.

An image of my father,

Of dysmorphia,

Of the bottom people avoid.

Lemon water.

No carbs.

No sugar.

No eating.

It doesn't work.

Because in reality, you're the same kid,

Smearing your mother's lipstick on your face,

Hoping to cover an insecurity

You didn't even know how to name.

But they can name it for you.

And it stays.

It stays in the form of thin white marks,

In the flinch when they raise a hand,

Knowing what happens when it lands.

It stays in the form of memories

Etched into your mind,

A map of pain you cannot erase.

Every day I see a mirror—

It is something new.

Or perhaps it is less.

Too much or too little.

Eat more. Eat less.

People tell me I am beautiful,

"My hair is thick, my lips are rosy,"

But I can't believe them.

They don't know my father.

They don't know I wear the face of a narcissist.

They never knew the little girl crying in her bed

as the ambulance came.

They never knew the little girl

Who hated her father,

Who hated herself.

They never knew the little girl,

Disgusted with her own body—

When she was only seven.

Tell me, when will his image fade?

When will the scars blend into my skin?

When will I never flinch?

How can I love this skin,

When it feels more like a prison

Than a home?

Tell me,

When will the glass stop showing his eyes?

When will it stop whispering his voice?

I will never escape his shadow.

His face is mine,

Etched into the features I cannot change.

So I curl my lip again,

And look away.

The mirror stays silent,

But I hear his voice,

And it tells me what I already know—

I will never be enough.

-August
(guys I'm fine I pinky promise)
xoxo, gossip girl