BulimiaBulimia11 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was always watching her. Every second of every day. I loved her like she was mine.
She ran her finger over her 8mm flesh hole and gazed at his number printed on her hand. She copied the number in to her mobile and walked in to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, her scruffy black hair, black eyes, too much make up, pale skin, chequered mini skirt, black corset, fishnets and big boots, she was your ultimate rebellion. She peeled off her sweaty, gig clothes and turned on the shower. She turned back to the mirror, how she hated herself. She ran her hands down the sides of her slender body and turned to the toilet to puke up the contents of todays meals. She wiped the tears from her eyes and the sick from her mouth when she was done. She forced a smile and muttered to herself 'I have control'. She stepped in to the shower and let the water run down her grubby body. She admired the bruises that were appearing over her body, that's what you get for being hardcore at shows.
Skin Deep.Skin Deep.11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I looked into the glass today,
And quickly did I look away.
For what I saw was nothing good,
That shamed the ground on which I stood.
I do not possess attractive looks;
Quite unlike ones in fashion books.
Awkward and strange do I live my life,
Dealing always with this mental strife.
A message repeats within my head,
"Not at all pretty? Better off dead!"
Have ever you heard of the Ugly Duck?
I'll remain in this stage for all my luck.
I will never be seen for what's inside,
So I suppose it's now the time to hide.
To hide myself where they can't see
What shames their eyes to look at me.
I wonder what it is 'they've' got,
That will never tie me with their lot.
They are not 'smart' and don't read books,
But are truly loved for their stunning looks.
And then I wonder, am I loved at all?
Or will I steadily continue to fall?
Will I ever be loved in that special way?
Will I ever have what 'they' have today?
Won't they see who I am for what I can be?
Or will they hate who I am;