body image.
every time i look down at my own body its a struggle.
it feels so wrong.
there are so many things that could be better.
i am not beautiful.
the skin that holds me, it is as ugly as the human on the inside.
why was i born if my presence was ugly, and taints the world?
and why do i keep prodding,
poking,
scraping,
scratching,
pinching.
as if that would fix it.
as if i will ever be pretty.
psh.
as if.
-self depricaition
YOU ARE READING
Teardrops
Poetrythe earths fragile heart broke one day after you left and guess who had to glue it back together.
