memories don't just fadeMy eyes are red and bloodshot, with low-lying eyelids.
I widen them; it stings a little.
So I squeeze them shut, and open them again
- very slowly.
I've been sobbing on my pillow; it's smudged with my mascara.
Why didn't I take my makeup off before I went to bed?
What was the point of that question?
I sigh, I know exactly why there's no room in my mind
for thoughts about skincare.
I turn back to the mirror on my bedside, and trail my gaze down from my pathetic eyes
toward a purple gash running diagonally from my cupids bow
to the left side of my cheek.
My lip is split, so it hurts to talk now.
"If I slice your mouth sweetie
Pride and Acceptance ?They loathe me;
they shout the worst words
right in my ear,
burning, scathing words.
I am proud... Proud of me, of who I am, of what I am.
I'm alone now, shunned.
I curl up in the wastelands
of something I once recognised
as my most intimate identity,
but now feels foreign and outlandish;
I am not wrong, they just don't understand me.
(I am proud.I don't need anyone elseto accept me;I accept myself.)