my ivory bones creek on the scale and my eyes are splattered with red vines as i watch the numbers tick—100–120–140–150–160–and i hate myself. my nails (daggers) rake into my skin, i feel the abhor reek up to my throat and
the blood spilled from my wine stained lips.
my coffee knots for hair are brittling into lines of despair, and i scream,
i hate myself!
the photo hanging on the shelves of my misery, reminds me that only girls with weedy bones and sickly teeth are pleasing to the splattered (red) eyes. my frail colorless bones hollow the picture, tracing over the girl with hair as blonde as a fresh cut of ivory paper and,
she is so pretty.
everything
i'm
not.
but the numbers on the scale seem to be trickling down and—160–150–140–are you done yet?
the words never leak out with detest sorrows
and—120–100–90–are you done yet?
not until my bones are weedy and teeth are sickly!
not until my bones are completely utterly rotten!
not until the gods decide they can't handle me!
not until i love myself!
not until people stare at me and say,
she is so pretty.
everything
i'm
not.
-
i will probably regret posting this and end up deleting it but anywaysss
you all are beautiful and i love you all