deepundergroundpoetry.com

Happy in Your Skin

How many people can truly say they love themselves? How many can look into a mirror and see all that is reflected back, that they accept? How many? Because I surly fucking can't. In fact, I avoid to all extent to NOT look into the mirror. I limit myself as much as possible. There isn't a goddamn thing I can say about myself that I can accept. I hate, no loathe, the way I look. The skin that contains the sinning. I lie, I cheat, cut, smoke, fuck I even steal. I believe in no "higher power." I like both genders, which for some fucking reason must mean I'm confused. Or that is only a phase. That I'm gay, but just won't admit it. I'm so fucking tired. Just sooo fucking tired. So I stopped. I stopped giving a fuck. That's the key to everything; not. Give. A. Fuck.
I hate everything I see when I look in a mirror. Dull brown eyes, big nose, weirdly placed freckles, faded out skin color, fucking acne. Don't even get me started on "acne." Blackheads are my nose's pores best fucking friend. I just am not content with who I am, and no amount of therapy can help that. No amount of compliments can help either, because after a while they start to mean nothing. They just kinda mix together, going into a hazy blob. How many fucking people can honestly say they are happy with who they are?
Written by XxMadHatterxX
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