The body sneers in hatred,
Girl, she is always hurting it,
Pulling it this way and that,
Cutting hair off like limbs,
Scratching marks into the functional skin,
Leaving the stomach empty for the cold to get in,
Pinching skin and chewing lips,
Girl makes the body look like a circus act,
A crudely drawn picture littered with cuts,
Face splotched with make up,
Girl is beautiful, the body can tell,
But Girl lies to herself,
And refuses to believe the truth in front of her,
Blandly pasted on her skin like a brand,
BEAUTIFUL, even the body can read it,
Scowling as the walls rumble in starvation,
Skin itches from melted candle wax,
And eyes burn from staring at the sun.
The sun is not as beautiful as Girl,
The body does not understand why she stares so long,
The only reason can be stupidity,
And Girl is not stupid,
No matter how many times she says she is,
The body knows the truth,
Sees the intelligence behind her eyes,
Curled despair around her wrists,
Trailing up her shoulders and through her hair,
Like searching hands,
The body can feel the phantom hands,
Scratching like pins on the skin,
Drawing blood with the ghostly presence,
The body does not remember the hands,
The body had healed from it.
Only Girl remembered,
And knew her reasoning,
For the flat torso and scratched skin.
I wrote this for a friend who can never seem to think she is beautiful.
