I am not a beautiful girl
who loathes her being
her grace, her pale skin
the veins that protrude
But I loath existence
I loath the mirror
reflecting the distortions
that may or may not be there

I am an untroubled woman
who absolutely hates
everything about myself
physical or otherwise
but it's ignored at all times
until it's finally brought up
I realize I can not love or communicate
or have a relationship
that is more than superficial

I sit, writing, but words don't always come
I want to describe the utter nothing I feel
I want words to flow like water
like smoke or smell
not stunted like I seem or am