I compare my body to art to make myself feel better.
These aren’t stretch marks, they’re lightning.
These aren’t acne scars, they’re a Jackson ******* painting.

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Theres something crawling underneath my skin.
I pick at it with
Nails bitten down into nubs.

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Some days the girl
Who stares back at me in the mirror
Yells profanities and insults
And my last wall of defense comes crumbling down.

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I’m a *****.
Cold, aloof, alone.
I keep my teeth bared.
I keep myself locked in a barbed wire cage.

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Self abuse is a tricky topic for most.
We all want to love ourselves,
To open our arms at the end of the day and
Cradle our inner children.
But the second
You open your mouth and
Let cartoon hearts fly out of your throat
You’re branded as “Narcissist”.
So instead,
We scold ourselves.
Whack rulers on our knuckles
Until the blood comes bubbling up.
We pinch and tuck and tease
And swallow bullet sized pills
And spew our lunches in the toilet bowl at school.
And we cling to this hatred
Like a baby clings to its mother.

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I compare my body to art to make myself feel better.
All Mona Lisa smiles and pearl earrings.
An interrupted girl.
I compare my body to art because
I’m already a critic.