At this point, my only friends are the ghosts inside my head.
The ones that remind me of every time I have messed up in my life,
That tell me, every time I hear a song from a musical I’ve been in,
Or a line from a show I’ve helped with,
Or something an old friend used to say.
Every time I hear one of those it reminds me how much of a ***** up I am.
How I’m talentless.
How I’ll never be one of the choir kids to go to a contest anymore.

I’m nothing more than a mistake.
I’ve searched, for a long time, for one thing I’m good at.
I enjoy things like theatre, until someone gives me that look.
The look that says they’re shocked that I could be that bad at something.

Both of my teachers have given me that look.
My best friends have given me that look.
The boy I fell in love with my freshman year has given me that look more times than I can count.

So.. I quit.
I quit choir.
I quit band.
I quit drama,
And musicals,
And plays,
And being stagehand.

I quit drawing.
I quit writing.
I only write anymore to throw my emotions out on a page like it’ll help-
It never does.
I just end up taking it out on myself either way.

My only friends are the ones inside my head,
Because they are the only ones honest with me.

I know that they are right when they say I am pudgy,
And too short, or too feminine.
I know that they are right when they say I will never achieve my dreams of living in Washington Heights,
Working at small time theatres-
Because that would mean someone would have to love my audition enough to actually cast me.

I’ve only ever gotten into shows where they accept everyone.

My only friends are the ones inside my head,
Because they see things the way I see things.
That the red scars decorating my thighs make me a little more beautiful.
Or that people will only love me when I am skin and bones.

I know that I will never dance or sing again,
But that will not stop me from trying to win the beauty pageant that is life.
I want to be the skinniest.
I want to be nothing but skin and bones and muscle.

I want to be beautiful.

And the voices, like true friends,
Want me to pursue that dream.

And the voices, like true friends,
Want me to die.
Because that is my dream.
And true friends support your dreams,
And wishes,
And the like.

These voices in my head want me as gone as I want me gone,
As much as everyone else wants me gone but won’t admit it-
But they admit it. They say it loudly.