Sometimes your hands will become anchors and you will try to move and the ground will thank you for keeping still. And you will only notice this because suddenly you'll ask yourself," doesn't the ground feel lonely?"
And the people will spit on the deeply- tarred -equator -feeling bubblegum laced ground. And the people drag their obese- nicotine savaged-righteous feet upon the surface and allow their children to pick at it, mimicking their itchy adolescent nostrils.
The ground, we never realised is a playground for lovers backs and the collector of the suicidal's blood from every 27th floor. But mostly it connects us all.
This is noted from the thoughts of a 17 year old girl who wants to thank the ground for being grey and sometimes brown or green and wants to be forgiven for being the next shade of red on it's beauty.

That girl
Is skin and bones
Takes long drags on her cigarette
Makes funny comments
About not eating
She's mysterious and vague
And she's not real
Eating disorders are not fun,
Or cute, or romantic, or tragically beautiful
There's nothing romantic
About worrying about
Your breath smelling
Of ***** while kissing
Someone you love
There's nothing romantic
About seeing an expensive dinner
Your boyfriend bought you
Swim blurrily in the toilet
There's nothing beautiful
About rotted teeth
And hair growing on your arms
If you think this is beautiful,
You can have it in exchange
For the ability to do basic things
I need in order to live
Like ******* eat  
It's not beautiful
To never feel beautiful
And never love yourself
So when we see ribs on a girl
And you see romance,
I'll see her ribs
As a cage
Keeping the pain in

'Twas weighing down her petite frame; rendering her weak.
Tugged at her very being; left her anguished and meek
'Out of sight, out of mind,' her rationale whispers everyday.
What happens, though, when she just can't look away?

She shields her face; turns her head in advance.
Ruthlessly judging herself, as she steals a discreet glance
As a mother warns her child, so her rationale intervened.
Yet, by the forbidden always tempted was the little fiend.

Her weak smile they see- no visible scars will they find.
Of the ever-raging battle; heart against mind.
Her feelings tore her open; the wrappings of a Christmas present
An empty box, laden only with pain and disappointment.

A closely guarded secret- it was hers and hers alone.
She sang herself to sleep, willed her heart to turn to stone.
She chose her words carefully lest the world should know.
Her long tresses moist from the tears on her pillow.

A simple human emotion,
Weighs me down more than anything ever did.
The pain,
It demands to be felt both physically and emotionally.

I don’t want to say goodbye,
If only I could hide these stupid tears,
If only I could tear and scratch away my flaws.
I wish I could be your ideal, dream girl.
Maybe then you would want me to stay,
Maybe then I could finally feel loved.
The way you told me I deserved.
Maybe if I were smarter,
The way you said I was, 
i would be able to see,
                                                                    Through your beautiful fake mask.