I wish it was just
sticks and stones
that hurt my bones.
That the words of hate
didn’t pain me.
I didn’t repeat them
in my mind,
again and again.
It’s stupid that
small words
in the past,
hurt me today,
and I still
don’t feel okay,
despite loving
people in my
life.
When I was 9,
they wouldn’t let
me play,
because I was a ‘freak’,
so I couldn’t stay,
had to feel defeated.
When I was 12,
I tried to look pretty because the boys
told me I was ugly.
I tried to be someone else,
anything that wasn’t me.
I remember hating
my body,
and feeling my friend
was
always better.
Perfect was hiding who you were,
and creating a persona,
through anything that
wasn’t you.
I never felt like I fit.
I was an outsider,
looking on the people
who were friends.
When I was 14,
I hated myself.
I wanted to be thin
and pretty.
To get that guy
or feel beautiful.
And today the scars of hating myself
still exist,
because I insist that they
were right.
Despite a boy who tells me
every perfect thing.
I still believe what
they
said.
LegallyFierceFeminist 