I don’t like me:
Countless hours I’ve spent infront of the mirror, many scars I’ve occurred from my nails digging into my skin.
Too many days used up of me on edge, wondering if they’re talking about me behind their hands.
From my hair to my features, my lips to the chub I have all over. I hate it. I hate it all. But I couldn’t image me any other way.
In all the cracked mirrors I look through, I keep trying to rearrange the pieces. But it all leads me to one question.
I don’t like me,
So why do you?