body dismorphia
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My mother always said she liked that dress.
She said I looked pretty in pink.
I don’t really like pink,
Or dresses,
Or hair,
Or my smile,
When I was little
My grandmother use to say " weeping may endure for a night but Joy comes in the morning "
She also wasn't lying when she said " I didn't have any friends "
when is it my body?
when you’re reaping the color of my skin
reducing my culture into a category that only accepts
squinty eyes and figures so thin
Ask the girl in the glass how she survives on just air.
Ask her, how does she last when she devours nothing but despair?
And remorse coats her every attempt to ignore what she sees,
