No one knows me.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Not mine.
My eyes are steel doors, dead bolted with chains.
No one would know my pain, my insecurity.
They call me beautiful.
My mirror calls me fat. Ugly.
My mirror lies; but I believe my mirror.
When I eat, it’s painful. I don’t want to face the white porcelain.
Yet here I am again.
Hunched over; believing the lies. Lies, lies!
Telling me that soon I will look beautiful, thin.
Those two words always go together, and I’ve become those words.
Those words live inside my mind, whirling, bumping into each other, swirling in a chaotic dance.
Beautiful. Thin. Beautiful. Thin. Beautiful.
I’m crying now; the tears pouring hot down my face, leaving trails on my cheeks. Beautiful. Thin.
Two little words that will be my destruction.