I hate the way I look,
But that's nothing new.
There's outfits I want,
And girls I wanna impress.
There's so many things,
That would be better
If I just had a face,
Perfect for every weather.
I'm too chubby,
(And fat.)
My hair is too straight.
My teeth are dirty and crooked.
My eyes are too dark,
And I have several chins.
I have to big mounds of flesh,
Right here on my chest,
And I just want to make them bleed.
My legs are too short,
My eyebrows are non-existent,
I have no charm,
The area down below,
Sets off my mental alarm.
Get out, you can't breathe.
Why does this keep happening to me?
Why cant things just be right,
Just be normal or at least somewhere inbetween.
My family are trying,
But it's not enough,
I don't know how much longer I can continue on,
This voice in my head sounds so wrong.
This void in my chest is the only thing that seems right.
YOU ARE READING
Sertraline
PoetryHUGE TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS ONE - Themes include: Drug Use and Overdose, Suicide and Depression, Self-harm and Abuse. [PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION]
