Those stretch marks on her
Thighs, and the
Scars next to
Those weren't there
Her mind riddled with anxiety,
The attack came swiftly; easily.
Body shaking and sweating,
Into the fetal position--
Her new favorite pose to
Take on this scary thing called
She didn't like it.
Believing the things no person had told her but herself... And society.
She hated herself for doing it,
But it was an addicting poison within her,
A slow suicide without the death,
And a vicious cycle of nonsense.
She had great friends, sure,
But she was her greatest enemy;
For the worst demons
Existed within her head, more complex than
The simple monsters
Under her bed.
It was evil, this darkness and judgement; this stigma from society.
It unjustly swallowed her whole,
Taking only the things
The darkness needed,
Leaving her with
Nails to bite
Skin to slice.
Leaving her with nothing but
Self-hate and her
Stomach nothing but the fat it loathed.
YOU ARE READING
*trigger warning* This is a short, dark poem I wrote because I'm going through some stuff. It's not the best, but I hope you'll still take a peek. Feel free to leave comments and feedback, but please don't be harsh, rude, and/or judgmental. Thank yo...