Literature
Flawed
Insecurities.
Screaming at me,
haunting me,
clawing at every inch
of my body.
That little voice inside my head
sounding strangely like my own,
tearing me down,
apart,
from the inside.
Each hate-filled blow,
hits harder than the last.
Each self-inflicted cut,
each burn,
hidden in shame,
nonexistent to the piercing eyes of others,
visible only in that lonely mirror reflection.
Puffy eyes,
tear-stained cheeks,
little dotted lines drawn
over every flawed bit of me.
Not pretty enough,
talented enough,
smart enough,
good enough.
There is not a perfect inch
within my being.
Why can't I be beautiful?