Isn't That What You Wanted?

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I feel the words tremble on my tongue.
You don’t even notice my shining eyes.
“You don’t care! But you should.” I want to scream.
I want you heart to ache in every single fibre of your body
Just like it hurts me.
But it doesn’t.
You won’t ever feel that.

Your laugh slips and slides around at my joke.
It encloses me like a blanket.
Soft.
Cuddly.
Just like you feel to her.
Her.

Why oh why am I not good enough?
What is it about me.
I’m not her.
But she sure as he** isn’t me.
That’s it though.
Your fingers intertwine to make perfect shapes.
And my falling tears are perfect spheres.

So I just flush the toilet.
Run my hand across my mouth.
Stand on my prison.
Is that what’s wrong with me?
Because my bones are beautiful.
That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?
A skinny girl.
That’s why you picked her.

Or maybe it’s not that.
Should I wear crop tops.
Short-shorts.
Push-up bras.
High-heels.
Plaster myself with makeup.
You wanted a beautiful girl didn’t you?

I’m scared now.
You are what I think about.
And you are how I feel about myself.
And how I define me.
Jealousy consumes me.
Sadness confines me.





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