Who the fuck are you to tell me what I see in the mirror?
What I see every day of my life when I\'m trying to paint on a new face. When I walk past a window or a mirror.
Who the fuck are you to tell me I have a nice body?
The body I have to touch every damn day. To cover in baggy jumpers. Pretending that you can\'t see the marks, the scars.
Who the fuck are you to tell me what you see?
When we clearly aren\'t looking at the same person. The same imperfections. The same complications. The same mind.
Please tell me. Who the fuck are you to love what you see? To love who you think you know?