All I can feel is emptiness then hate. Hate for the skin wrapped around my bones, hate for this darkness that consumes me, hate for those who ignore me, constantly.
Hate for the vein that stick out of my abnormally large forehead when I laugh, hate for my laugh, hate for my eyelids that hood over my eyelashes, hate for my uneven eyebrows.
Hate for my short neck, hate for the dozens of freckles covering my body.
Hate for my thin lips, hate for the shoulders my father passed down to me, hate for the veins that stand out against my chest bringing attention to my unusual shaped breasts.
Hate for my large arms, hate for my thick fingers. Hate for the flop of fat sticking out of my lower stomach.
I have hate for my thunder thighs, hate for my horrendous feet my father blessed me with.
I also have hate for my hair, the colour, the texture, the length, hate for the
depression that's eating at my insides, telling me I'll never amount to anything, that I'm not good enough, that I am nothing, I am empty.
08/05/17
YOU ARE READING
a teenagers journal
شِعرI have a lot of written pieces in my old journal from my Creative Writing course, so I decided to share them here.
