DOST MOTHER KNOW YOU WEARETH HER DRAPES
(Source: smallworldsyndrome)
it
It took me by the hand,
and told me what it was,
to be beautiful.
It ate my insides,
carving and perfecting,
with reassurance.
It broke me down,
leaving a carcass,
laughing sourly.
It stays in my mind,
taunting me so,
“you’re not beautiful.”
