You always said things about me.
"So skinny; so curvy; you've got thick thighs; big boobs; you can't fit into this; that dress ain't for your body sweetheart; you are overreacting; you're sensitive; you should be more understanding; ugly couch potato, etcetera."
Anything that I did, and you had a comment to pass.
But did you ever wonder that your words would pierce right through my heart?
How could I pay attention to my looks when my mind is a total disaster?
How can I dress up when I don't even feel like taking a shower?
How can I joke around when I'm just trying to hold myself together and prevent myself from crumbling?
How can I wear a bra when my anxiety is already stiffening up my chest?
You want me to wear wristlets on my wrist, when all I really want to do is to cut them.
You want me to wear a choker, when life has already choked me enough.
You want me to wear anklets, when you always kept me tied up like a bird in a cage.
Would you please, just let me be?
Let me breathe once without having a worry at the back of my head.