Poetry Collection

Plastic

Scars beneath my skin,

my thoughts are slowly sinking in.

I just can't ever win,

my own thoughts feel like a sin.

Your skin is made of plastic,

and your heart made out of tin.

That chocolate made you feel fat,

So suffocate yourself to make your stomach flat.

Maybe I'm just a brat,

But self-consciousness creeps up like a black cat.

My vanity is overwhelming.

My whole life feels like a display for you to look at.