i don’t like what i see in the mirror
because i am nothing more than an ugly mess.

tired eyes
flabby tummy and big thighs
self harm scars
and layers of skins enough to hide my confidence.

i don’t like my reflection.
i don’t like them at all.

i was told that i was perfect the way i am
but then they would tell me
“maybe if you lose weight a little bit more
you could get rid of that chubby cheeks and double chin”.

so i skipped breakfast,
and lunch,
and dinner,
and sometimes i lose control and puke all the way out.
my throat would burn but i felt victorious.

and just like that i spend days and weeks and months and every moments counting calories that will flow down inside this mouth
one hundred
two hundred
not more than three
or else their terrifying gazes will speak to me and say
“ew, disgusting.”

i hate my reflection and i dislike my being
because who would have loved a person like me,
a person with self love the size of a teardrop?

and then they told me again that i don’t have to go on diet because i’ve got the body of Victoria’s Secret’s models

but again,
why would he left me for a girl
well,
she has smaller wrist, bigger chest and she’s always alive
i don’t blame him though
i am really not enough, right?

because anyone can say those three words
and anyone can say you’re perfect
as long as you fit their idea of perfection

i am no goddess and i know my place

but maybe
just maybe
someday,
i will finally be enough.