"What is it that you don't like?"

The words that haunt my every thought

Longing to rush along my lips

and spill out

Filling in the crevaces of the space around me

Words

What do they mean

It is hard to tell when you whisper

Perhaps it was something about my nose

Does it stick out to much for you?

Or my hip bones?

Which are covered by the very meat that signifies I am a woman

Could it be my hair? No. No. NO.

It must be me-- My Personality.

And so I punish myself,

When in all actuality, the problem is You

You

Critical and naive

Sly and foul

Sour and Sweet

Shall I believe your Lies?

Only to get through the next day my friend.