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"Grow up. You're just growing up"
As the moon shines down on my squinted brow
I quiver and shiver
as the crows echo in the background
as I stare into the hazy graveyard, I spot a man,
tall and lean and I think he could never love me.
No one could love me.
With my damaged brain or my love for pain.
With my disciplining face and my above-zero waist.
With my chubby thighs and strange eyes.
With my thin lips and hip dips.
With my flat ass and clothes, people say are trash.
With my strange annoying voice and always making the wrong choice.
No one could love me because I'm not beautiful.
You will never see me in a vogue magazine.
I'm not the girl who has people swooning at their feet.
Or the one boys call pretty.
I would cry at night asking god why he could not make me pretty like the girls from Disney.
No one could love me.
I can't even stand the sight of me.
My mother says it's a phase and I'm growing up but it's more.
Much more.
What do you do in this life when you feel so so ugly.
I just want to be 6 feet under with the worms who can't see me cry, as I die.
With my shovel on my side and the man leaving my sight,
I begin to dig.
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I'm not one to presume anything as far as a person's mindset in writing, but this was definitely very dark for the low wordcount, and the feelings described aren't uncommon. I can't say all that's necessarily a bad thing, one thing that's annoying is not leaning into the feelings a narrative presents, no matter how short. (hint, hint, I say that in reference to some of my own work.) I can also say that this dynamic with ones own body can be some of the worst feelings to try and navigate. Thanks for Writing!
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