I always want to say sorry,
Even when it's not my fault.
Because that's how it used to be,
That I'm getting blamed for everything.
So I'm sorry for being here at all.

I still try to do everything right.
I have to prove I can,
I just have to show that it wasn't always my fault.
I have to prove them wrong, even if I'll never see them again.
I just have to prove them wrong by proving my right.
I just can't fail, like the failure they think I am.

Imagine being a caterpillar.
Curled up in your cocoon,
Dreaming of soaring the interstellar
And up and around the moon.

Wishing for some fresh air,
And someplace, somehow, somewhere,
to be able to finally
spread your wings
and Fly.

But in reality you’re stuck.
Stuck and curled up.
Forever eyeing and envying the eccentric butterflies
Fluttering and flourishing throughout the skies.

If I let myself slip, I’ll never make it back out of that state.
I’ll never wake up and perhaps that’s what my subconscious mind desires, but my forefront thoughts don’t want my time to die,
At least, not just yet.
I am self destructive and lonesome and prone to sadness,
Yet I bring this all to myself.
I gamble and win but instead of engulfing the money in my arms, I wrap my hands around burning sobriety chips and self destruction
Comes knocking back on my door and I let him in like he always had a right to come back.
Like he hadn’t crept up on me in my most vulnerable state,
Like he cared about me.
My mind unwise and my life unfair and my thoughts tangled into spaghetti string before I cut it up
Before I make it easier for me to swallow
What is wrong in my life.
What is wrong with me?
I tend to whisper to myself before my eyes close and the tears fall out the edges onto my pillow, leaving a residue in the morning to remind me that I am not as mentally stable as I want to be.

I feel warm
I feel dizzy
I feel sad

Oh my bad
I got too drunk
Decided no more junk

I feel me
I feel clear
I feel calm

You all did me wrong
Now i see
You don't deserve me

I feel tired
I feel dry
I feel sure

*******, sir
Being upset at me
When i finally spoke honestly

I feel closer to a confident me

I used to love my curves.
My plump hips,
My thick thighs,
My ***** chest,
My chubby cheeks.
All the curves, stretch marks, and the lumps,
Especially my lumps,
Made me.
And I loved me.

Until I met you.
When we first met, you worshiped my curves.
Kissed on my chest,
Gripped my thighs.
You used to say,
“I love my baby’s fat ***,”
As you would squeeze my thighs
and I would laugh.

But then reality decided;
“Babe you should really workout some”
“*** I really think you should lose some weight”
Or you would talk of other girls,
Thinner girls.
“Country girls are so hot”
“I saw this girl today at work and she was ****.”

So now I’m looking in a mirror.
In my black sports bra
And my mixed match pink underwear.
All I see looking back,
is not
my plump hips,
My thick thighs,
My ***** chest
Or my chubby cheeks,
Not even my lumps,
Hell, especially my lumps.

I see my belly overflow the hem of my underwear,
I see my ******* resting on my stomach,
I see the extra skin around my neck,
And I notice the way my stomach jiggles when I walk.

The sound of my feet hitting the ground,
The way things vibrate around me when I walk,
My shortness of breath uphill,
And the way my thighs touch each other instead of having that gap.
That cute gap.
That gap that skinny girls have.

But now,
I cover myself more.
The curvy girl who used to wear crop tops confidently,
Now wears a hoodie to hide.
Secretly apologizing to everyone who ever saw her curves.
Her plump hips.
Her thick thighs.
Her ***** chest.
Apologizing to everyone whoever saw,
Her.

And I compare myself to every girl around me.
‘If I had her legs’
‘Her stomach’
‘Her face’
Maybe,
Just maybe,
You would be saying,
“Nerdy girls are hot”
Or bragging to your friends
“I have this girl and she’s so ****”
And maybe,
Just maybe,
You would still be here.

And I would laugh,
Smile,
And blush
And we would be happy.
Together.

But instead,
I’m looking at this mirror,
And all I see
Is a fat girl
Looking back at me.

"why are you so insecure?" repeat. repeat. repeat.
why wouldn't I be?
do you know the ache of being me?
I never learned how to love myself, and I've never really seen anything to love
It is only me. it's impossible to feel confident when you hate every inch of your body
to be trapped in my mind, is like being publicly criticized just like
Your worst dream, but every night
my disgusting body, the life I keep trying to find
and then ask again.
why are you so insecure?
This is no disguise
Try and see through these aching eyes

why can we never listen to our own advice?
is it because it isn't true?
or is it because we realize we aren't worthy.