I wasn’t beautiful in the sense of unblemished skin, or how my outfits weren’t put together; how I snorted when I laughed, or how I clumsily walked through life.


I collected my tears in jars, to be remembered but not dwelled on. I let the scars heal, and watch the new skin cover my self hatred. I opened the windows of my heart, and let joy seep through.


I’m slowly learning that beauty is found in the excitement in my eyes when I’m about to climb a roof. In the tips of my hair dyed teal, because I wanted it. In the slight tremble in my hands when I’m nervous, and the bruises on my knees from unknown adventures. In my voice when I’m talking to someone I love.

That was beauty. I had looked at self-love all wrong all these years.

It wasn’t how my collar bones showed, or how I painted my nails.

It was the inner beauty, that I found and could be proud of.





he touches my back

whispers in my ear

touches my thigh,

says since we’re family,

he can do whatever he wants

when I asked him to stop


told I wasn’t skinny enough,

told I was psycho,

told I was a mute,

catcalled and made fun of

never was the pretty girl

never was the untouchable girl



the clique doesn’t accept

a new presence,

even if it’s been there for ages

they told me to go away,

laughed in my face.


afraid to leave the house;

afraid to be alone

he’s everywhere, he’s watching

he knows everything

he could ruin me in a moment

I close the blinds tighter


and, everyone asks me

why I don’t like to be touched

why I hate superficial girls and guys

and I just shrug

they tell me to not be so guarded;

and I just nod, not really listening



so, I hold a razor in the shower

and I think of about dying

I think of him, him, and him;

of her, her, and her

and I could blame all of them

but, I’m to blame, aren’t I?










analysis of self.

I don’t recognize myself anymore,

who is this girl?

I never look her in the eyes

or tears will ruin her perfect facade

of foundation and mascara

and then everyone will know.


people say, “I love you.”

people say, “you’re not alone.”

but I feel alone

when they hug me, I feel numb

as if I was static on the television

as if I was peering in from the window


24 hours of misery

sometimes a break in between.

I’m lying because I’m so accustomed

to keeping my feelings to myself.

I hardly cry, instead I bleed

I hardly try anymore.


and, I’m scared to be happy

because I know what’s like to have it stolen

and, I’m scared of what people think

because I know what’s it like to be rejected

and, I’m not scared to die

because I’m so damn tired of fighting myself.





there she goes.

there she goes

laughing at someone’s joke

society’s embodiment of beauty

kind, her smiles sent warmth to your soul

they told me once,

she was the greatest person you’d ever meet


there she goes

the laugh occurs less often

she keeps confiding in others she feels ugly

her smiles hold cries for help

she’s trying to tell someone,

the greatest problem she’s ever faced


there she goes

the laugh is forced

she refused the meal in front of her

she dazes off with a frown

yet–no one notices

the greatest girl wears the greatest facade.


there she lies

there’s no laughter

her body looks malnourished

a slight smile of relief curls on her blue lips

everyone is crying, everyone is confused why,

the greatest girl died…but I know why…


Dear Someone VIII

Dear Someone,

Let’s be honest.


When was the last time one of us looked into the mirror and didn’t point out a flaw?

When was the last time you walked alone and didn’t glance nervously behind you?

When was the last time you weren’t harrassed?

Girls, what happened to us?

We grew up. We filled the voids with boys and makeup, and it screwed us up. We tried to make a statement, and the world shot us down.

We are like pliable clay, and society isn’t even pulling us apart or flattening us. No, they’re rolling us so thin; we’re breaking slowly but surely.

And why don’t we stand together? How can we fight the world if we can’t even stop making fun of each other. Stop calling her a ‘slut,’ and give her a hug.  Stop calling them ‘anorexic’ or ‘fat’ and tell them they are beautiful the way they are. Stop calling her ‘goth,’ and show her the cuts on your arms.

After we can unite, then we can take on the society that was made us turn on each other.

That’s all.









mirror, mirror.

she was beautiful
to everyone
everyone looks into the mirror
and sees something differently

I see her beyond the mirror
I reached in through the glass
and I saw the scars
from the razor
I saw her bones
wanting to crack
because nothing can carry this weight
I saw her eyes
and how the light is faint
but still there

she pushes me out
she says beauty is hard
and untainted
I was dirt on her perfect mirror
so she wiped me away.