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 ...