There is some girls in this world that you call a six, they go home and cry. Some girls you call a six and they get angry and yell at you or slap you.
I realized that there was something wrong with me the first time someone called me a six, told me I wasn't good enough. I spent eight years after that trying to find him the ten that he was looking for; meanwhile sitting in the background trying to improve myself to be more like all of the eights and the nines. I bought him things and I showed him the most beautiful parts of me, I cooked for him and listened when he needed an ear. I let him use my body and I let him feed from the beautiful thoughts in my mind, the dark thoughts in my mind as well. I let him crawl under my skin. I did whatever he asked me to do and I gave whatever he asked me to give until I felt like I had nothing left.
I knew that there was something wrong with me when you called me a six and instead of crying, I felt the urge and needed for you to hold me and to use my body. I wanted you to know what a six feels like instead of how she looks. Some people fail to realize that I was a ten once. I was a ten being made to feel like a six, being told constantly that I was a six and I needed to be at ten. Imagine how many times someone told me that I was a six because they realized that I was vulnerable, imagine how many times I had to clear my mind of that thought but couldn't. Imagine all of the substances that I poured into myself trying to drown those negative thoughts that had been planted. Imagine how many conversations I had and how many people I let slip in under my loosely sewn skin. Imagine all of the men that I felt the need to be held by, imagine how they "held" me. Imagine how I felt after, imagine what I became. One day down the road I woke up and looked into the mirror and saw someone that I didn't recognize. Here I am, a six, trying to find what I lost.