a dim room damp skin burning hatred
if they knew the thoughts in her head they would see her as she saw herself
they would recognise her for what she was and despise her.
not enough- she would never be enough. that girl had higher cheekbones nicer lips a prettier nose.
that girl she was liked. she had long legs she was pretty. she was happy.
the words comparison is the thief of joy could never have been truer.
because that girl she cried at night her father hit her and sometimes worse in a drunken rage.
that girl she wanted to die she pierced her skin with the blade of a knife. she felt that she was drowning
and she'd never see the surface again.
but she was happy. or so it seemed. for in that dim room another girl cried. she knew she would go to hell.
her thoughts were poison because every time she looked in that mirror her self esteem plummeted.
soon there would be nothing left.
when you look at a word for a long time it begins to look wrong the longer you scrutinise it the worse it looks.
...and maybe we do the same to ourselves?