I wish I was smaller. I wish I was petite. I wish I was weaker. I wish someone would be here to hold me and keep me warm. Someone here to prevent the chills from going up my spine. I wish I was smaller. I wish I was shorter. I wish I was skinnier. I wish my body weren’t so broad. I wish I had a feminine body. I’m happy with my body, I swear. I just wish it wasn’t the way it was. I wish I was skinnier, that I was not so broad, that I was shorter. That my nose was like the models from the magazines or that my thighs wouldn’t touch. Because I’m envious of my thighs. I wish I had green eyes. The eyes of the leaves.. Not of the bark, because who finds bark beautiful? No, everyone looks to the leaves. They simply carve their lovers initials into the tree bark, leaving scars on me. I’m envious of my thighs. I’m envious of those skinny, pretty girls. I’m envious of the model's bodies even though I know they go through ****. I wish I was smaller. I wish I was petite. I wish I was weaker. I wish I was pretty. I wish I was light. I wish my voice was soothing when I sing. Instead it’s raspy and grated. I’m quiet when I sing.. I’m quiet when I talk too… If I talk.. I wish I was smaller. I wish I was petite. I wish I was skinnier. I wish I wasn’t so broad. I wish my voice was smooth. I wish my arms wouldn’t look the way they do. Why do I keep getting picked on because of them? I wish I was pretty. I wish I could be loved. I wish these voices would leave me alone. I wish I could think straight. I wish I was pretty. I wish I was skinny. I wish I looked like the models in the magazines. I wish my hair didn’t have split ends or had different lengths. I wish I didn’t have blemishes on my face I wish I didn’t say the things I do. Because I always regret it in the end. I wish my voice smooth. I wish I talked more. I wish I wouldn’t always feel the need to say sorry after I speak because I’m afraid that my voice isn’t smooth enough. I wish I walked, talked, and looked the way the models do. I wish I felt pretty I wish I was I was skinny I wish I could feel comfortable in my own skin But I’m not.
Try to forget the sight of her sliver fingers curling around the reapers gift remember how they caressed your hair last season when the sky was as pale as the skin between her thighs, an oasis that you knew all too well
Don't watch her growing ever smaller, the flesh you once drew your tongue over disintegrating