My mum told me I was beautiful,
From the inside to the out,
For 13 years I believed her,
I believed her without a doubt.
The kids at school thought different,
They judged me by my shape,
The made me cry and worry,
I closed my mouth with tape.
Fat, ugly, slut, whore, trick,
Is what they all would say,
Kick me, punch me, push me,
I would stifle the pain away.
Until finally I cracked,
I took the razor to my wrist,
The pain I caused felt better,
Far much better than their fists.
Go die is what they told me,
Lose weight is what they teased,
They tore down my confidence,
Ripped away as they pleased.
So for my 14th birthday,
I skipped eating the cake,
I thought I could be beautiful,
So skinny, thin; fake.
The pounds melted away,
My bones against my skin,
I let the fat girl out,
And let the anorexic one in.
My mum thought I was sick,
I couldn't have been more pleased,
This body was new, better,
All the taunting had been seized.
I became popular and wanted,
I felt like a model,
Skinny, thin; fake,
I walked with stride, not waddle.
Until my mother looked at me with tears in her eyes,
"Stop," she begged my mind,
"Don't give up," said my heart,
I was perfect, normal, fine.
Until I crashed out that one summer day,
Passed out among peers and boys,
Doctors said I was too thin,
Too perfect; Too destroyed.
My mum told me I was beautiful,
From the inside and out,
I was dying slowly,
I was dying, no doubt.
