They pointed out my flaws
This life didn't seem worth living anymore.
All those judgements and pointed fingers,
It's a getting a little too much to handle.
Being me seemed more like a crime,
And not a right of mine.
All those pretty faces and perfect bodies,
Are slowly gnawing at me
And life doesn't seem like a pleasure anymore.

She isn't beautiful.

She already knew this, but the truth still hurts. 
She faces the wall and her body speaks. 

"It's alright," says her heart, as her shoulders shake with the rhythm of sobs. Her small hands grasp her arms in comfort. An icy, throbbing pain seeps through her limbs and down to her toes; she draws her knees to her chest like a shield, no, like a wall. A wall to keep the fury and the grief and the humiliation inside, from soaking her bed and waking her ignorant lover. 

"I still love you," says her body. Her uneven ******* rise with her shallow gasps, her marred skin warms her frozen soul, her graceless legs protect her and her body loves her, loves her even if he doesnt. Even if he doesn't see her for anything but her faults, her body loves her. It is hers and hers alone and no one else will love her like she loves herself. 

"You're very pretty," says her brain, but it is of no comfort to her, only a reassurance that she will never be desired like a fairy tale princess, never mistaken for an angel. No wars would be fought over her, no dances ever asked of her. No matter the pain or the paint or the tears or the tries. 

She isn't beautiful. 

She already knew this.

I woke up on monday,

and,

being frightfully ashamed of my bloated pig face

and stringy hair

and thick arms,

I stayed home and locked in my room,

wishing I could remain there always.

Having low self-esteem *****
It has shaped me in ways that I can't even look at myself in the mirror

I do not want anyone to feel what I feel about myself
It is a terrible, terrible feeling
when you can't accept yourself
when you doubt everything
when you can't trust yourself
when you can't love yourself
when you give in to the voices that little you and,
and start to believe every word of it

I do not wish this upon anyone
but for some reason
when I find someone who is going through this...
it helps

I know I can talk to them
I think because they are the only ones who truly understand
Who will not make fun of me
Who will stand by me because they know,
they know what it's like to wish you could rip this skin of yours and be a different skin
because you just hate yourself so much

I am still getting used to this skin