I used to say;

Every inch of my body is flawed.

My arms are the misspelling of words everyone expects you to know;

My stomach is the lucky lottery numbers of addicts and the poor;

My legs are rivers that flow endlessly, but flood all that dares live next to its edges. The water pours over and into the houses of strangers like it was always meant to be there. Only to wash away lives and leave destruction.

The freckles on my skin etch a pattern ‘ugly’ as delicate as Charlottes webs, only these designs were never meant to save the girl. They were meant to break her.

A story of hatred is told on my face, one of a torn castle and all in its wake. The royalty inside have all faded away, and the beauty I once saw could no longer stay.

Every inch of my body is flawed, but these misspelling arms take comfort in temporary words.

-S.D.F