I am not
who you think I am
I have marked my skin
with trenches and valleys,
my body a no-man's land,
a mine field
of blue and purple veins
beneath wind-thin skin
disgustingly plump in my reflection
I have stared at food starving
but resisting
when I pull at my hair
it comes out,
brittle and henna-red,
but my hands are full of ashes
and my mouth is full of dirt
and i wonder how i'm still here...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment