ana,
i've been a canvas to your words. not painted, not drawn, but carved. carved into my mind and even on my physical being. you've covered me in words that I'd rather not see myself, but of course you've put them on the visible parts of me too. my forearms are to the bone in some points, thin, because when you say something deep it goes quite literally. a soft 'don't eat that' is a scratch like situation, and it nearly fades completely in a week or two, but you also shout at me. 'WHY DID YOU EAT THAT.' 'I TOLD YOU NO.' 'I THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO BE PRETTY SOON?' yeah, those hurt a little more. they cut a little deeper, and so to keep you quiet, i obey. i starve just a little longer. 'good girl.' the only words you say that don't burn to the bone. to all that's left.
