My friends ask me, "How are you feeling?"
Well, what kind of question is that?
Does it look as if my cuts are healing?
And what do you think of my mask?
Does this act I put on make me pretty?
When I walk by, do you stop and stare?
Are the words that I say smart and witty?
Do I have perfect lips, eyes and hair?
Is my thigh gap all that you expected?
Or is there more I need to change?
Yeah, sure, it's unhealthy, but, really,
a flat stomach is worth feeling faint.
Your words are glued in my brain.
So if you want to save me someday,
remember, your words,
"beauty's worth pain,"
And you'll realize, by then, it's too late.
-GS
YOU ARE READING
Once Upon a Rhyme
PoetryThis is not a poem, it's a cry for help This is not a poem if it can't be felt This is not a poem for you to tell This is my poem. This is my hell. This will be the end of me This is the sway of the willow tree This was the way that you looked at me...
