Crying. Hoping . Praying. Always crying. Trying to throw up because it fulfills me.
While society fills my head with what makes you beautiful.
Beauty: the size of your clothes not your heart.
Looking at the list of requirements.
Thigh gaps, long legs, the jawlines.
My tears.
I look at myself in a broken mirror to see a shattered girl.
Detached. Distorted
Innocence stolen by the idea of looking like an hourglass
Longing to see my ribcage, praying for mercy from my own thoughts.
Not looking like the models in the magazines.
Girls dying to be thin.
Being one of those girls.

I start to count the calories
Water.
Water is safe.
Maybe that’s why i feel safe crying.
Drowning in my own tears.
It’s silent.
No one can hear my cries for help.
Girls dying from disorders. Their own thoughts killing them.
Confidence deteriorating.
Beautiful is no longer a harmless desire, it’s a perilous necessity.
Flat stomachs, large measurements, full lips.
More tears

Tears relieving the hunger.
Masking the pain with a smile.
Empty smiles, empty stomachs.
Beautiful.
It’s all worth it as long as I’m beautiful. Right?
I stare at the naturally skinny girls in envy.
Naturally beautiful.

My mind begins to wonder.
Wondering why they decided to make me like this.
Why wasn’t I born beautiful?
Was I not good enough?
As an unborn child, did they decide I wasn’t worthy of being beautiful?
It wasn’t fair.
It’s never been fair.
If I’m not destined to be beautiful, why am I here?
What’s my purpose?
To die?
To cry myself to sleep every night, while my mind tears itself apart.
No. No more tears.
I refuse to let myself fall into a bottomless pit because they decided I wasn’t worthy of beauty.
So what?
I’m not meant to be beautiful.
I’m meant to be inquisitive, inventive, intelligent.
All of that put together is my own beautiful.