She says
There are no words
She’s right.
What am I
Supposed to write

Should I write about
The perfect model girls that
Plague my stormy night

Should I write  about
The hollow ache I know I’ll feel
When one by one
My loved ones disappear

Should I write about
The messed up cycle
I keep spinning in,
Claiming to change
Then giving in

Should I write about the cracked mirror in my heart
How the NUMBER on a scale
Can make me fall apart

Should I write about
The imperfections I see
The bad sister
Bad friend
I see in me

She says
There are no words.
Maybe there are,
But
They aren’t heard.