he hated his shoulders. why couldn't they be wider?
he hated his nose. it was too big; a mockery of the gap between him and his peers.
he hated his height. why couldn't he be six feet?
he hated his hands. they were too small.
he hated his smile. why was it so lopsided and crooked?
he hated his eyes. they were too thin; too brown; too plain.
he hated himself. his entire existence.
the tears he shed over this collected in a half empty cup and
the fire that was his self hatred, boiled menacingly under it.
they evaporated, condensed on the roof of his soul,
then fell again every night.
and so, the cycle continued. it seemed there was no end
so, he broke the cup and the glass shards pierced his lungs.
in a twisted way, he finally got his wish
because he's six feet now,
but it's six feet under.
YOU ARE READING
anhedonia (unfinished)
Poetryanhedonia: [noun] the loss of interest and enjoyment in all activities that you once liked; the feeling of not caring anymore. title is in common letters for aesthetic purposes. all rights reserved.
