nine years old,
crooked smile and chubby thighs;
skipped meals, destroyed soul.
a stutter and frizzy hair.
"am i sweet enough?" she asks the mirror on the wall
eleven years old,
insomnia and trembling knees;
fake smiles, minor lies.
a lack of oxygen and sobbing eyes,
the urge to point a gun at her head and pull the trigger.
"am i good enough?" she asked the mirror on the wall
thirteen years old,
blood-stained wrists and mascara running down her face,
smudged eyeliner and daddy issues.
the razor at her side,
and the urge to cut her veins open.
"am i broken enough yet?" she asked the mirror on the wall
fifteen years old,
immensely bleeding thighs and bony arms;
untouched food, blood-stained knives.
short hair and closed doors.
mommy finally gave up, so did she.
"am i good enough now?" she asked as she tightened the rope
that little girl which