Who was there for me all those years when I had nothing else to believe but the self dragging words they always said.
With my ink stained fingers and bloodshot eyes.
Who was there for me when I needed to change for the better but they said no. "You're perfect the way you are" but why can't you treat me that way?why can't I have any value because of the way I used to look?
Who was there when I razed my skin for the first time when I was 12.
When I kept a bottle of bleach under my bed in case it got worse and I decided to burn my stomach.
And when my body spent hours lying on the cold shower floor contemplating my worth.
I was there for me then, I'm here for me still and nobody's love is gonna change that.
