Why does he like my body? Because this is just a shell of a place that feels like hell, my soul is screaming for somebody tell.

He would rather compliment my looks instead of reading me like a book, go home and tell his friends that my body is something they should be proud of.

But he doesn’t notice that my thoughts are so loud, never tells me that he’s proud.

My body is so different from this shell I so happen to live in. My opinions aren’t worthy because of this snake skin that portrays me.

This world is feeling more hazy, sometimes I wish I was a new born baby wrapped  up in my mothers love, away from a mans touch.

My skin is not my voice. It’s nothing more than something I want to avoid.

My body does not define me, because she is inside me.