I am a shallow pool of self-reflection,
fueled by my ego and a mean recollection.
By self-loathing, self-loving, self-harm, and selfishness.
Full of vinegar, full of ****
Hate and love and good intent, salt and wine.
Hate so filling, I want to die.
**** me, beat me, bruise me, break me.
Show me any flaws and they will shake me,
to the core, the middle, the filling.
Gut-wrenching feelings of beating and killing.
Look in the mirror when you need a reminder of how much beauty really matters here.
Look in your closet, your purse, your makeup bag.
Look to your writing when you need to feel sad,
when you need to be reminded of how ugly your guts are.
Your conceptual guts. Your physical guts are beautiful,
if that’s what you want to think.
Even lipstick is made with fish scales.