It's just really fucking hard, okay?
They tell me I'm beautiful
and trust me,
I try so hard to believe them.
When negativity and comparisons
dance around my head
more than the body positive thoughts
everyone is trying to shove down my throat,
It seems impossible to
swallow one breath of confidence.
That number on the scale
Keeps going up
And I think to myself
"Disgusting"
"Fat"
"Failure"
I haven't weighed myself in months,
Because I'm scared that
I'll see a number I don't want to see,
And I'll slip back into the habit of
Eat little
Exercise much
Hate, hate, hate.
I look down and see a chest
bigger than the week before
And imagine how much happier I'd be
If I could just cut them off.
I look in the mirror and see
Damaged hair
Scars
Acne marks
Pimples
Jagged teeth
How can that be beautiful?
Who the hell can see it?
I'm not just insecure.
I loathe the body I'm trapped in.
I wish so much that I could
look more like her,
Or her,
Or her,
Or her,
Or her,
Or her.
I know I'm good enough for
the people around me-
But damnit,
When will I be good enough for myself?
