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  May 2017 Zoe Byrd
Mida Burtons
My mothers beginning to worry
I don't eat enough
I'm glad to know she cares
But it isn't love

My fathers asking me if i'm alright
And I tell him a lie
I'm just as close to him
As any other guy

My friends don't ask
They don't see the signs
They don't look for sadness
Or my scarring lines

So I keep my fake smile
To keep them all away
Because even if I told them
They'd all leave anyway
Zoe Byrd May 2017
I want you to tell me I'm pretty
Tell me that my eyes are like stars
That my hair is gorgeous and soft
and that it frames my face in just
the right way
Tell me that I have a cute little
button nose and my glasses sit
perfectly on it
Tell me that the freckles that are
scattered over my skin are adorable
That my skin is like porcelain,
smooth and pale
That it doesn't matter if there are
imperfections
Tell me that even though I may
have them, tell me that they make
me even more real and beautiful
Tell me that my hands would fit
perfectly in yours
I want you to tell me all these things
But you never are able to
Instead you tell me
That my eyes are dull
and boring
That my hair would look better
blonde and longer
You tell me that my nose is too wide,
and my glasses make my eyes look
too small
You tell me my freckles would look
better gone
That my skin is so pale it makes me
look dead
And that I should go get a tan if
I want to even think about being
pretty
You tell me that my scars and
my blemishes need to be covered
That no one wants to look at that
You tell me that my hands are too
chubby, along with the rest of me
and my fingers are too short
I just want you to tell me I'm pretty
But I keep telling myself that I'm
anything but that

— The End —