they say I’m lovely,
but all I see is ruin,
decay beneath the skin,
a slow rot, spreading,
like mold on bread,
like rust on steel.

they tell me I’m a treasure,
but I’m just bones,
dressed up—
a corpse with painted lips,
a doll with cracked porcelain,
wearing gold, wearing glitter.

the triggers come
without warning,
suddenly I want to
scratch my skin
until I see the bones,
to dig past the filth
that’s seeped into me.

I can never accept
their compliments,
each word is a thorn
in my throat,
my insides heaving,
wanting to vomit
at every beautiful thing
they try to lay at my feet.

their words,
fall like leaves,
dead and brittle,
telling me I’m something,
when all I am
is nothing.

I’m a hollow thing,
a husk,
wrapped in compliments,
drowning in the noise,
of what they think I should be,
while I rot quietly
inside.

© reddragonfly

#selfloathing