I am made up of failures,
I am built on disapproval,
I have lived my life on cracked foundation,
made from melting ice sheets,
I have built my life on rotting wood,
on fragile china.
I have bled on pages and pages of
over exaggerated comments,
and silent disapprovals.
I remain bleeding,
as I slowly break my bones
Hoping that I am bent into the shapes
Everyone else approves of.
I have erased myself from mirrors,
Painted pictures of nonsensical images,
of things people approve of.
I can’t remember what I used to look like.
I trace the outlines of my being
and it feels foreign to me.
I sold myself to the lowest bidder.
I used people’s approval as currency
In hopes to buy myself back.
But nothing I do seems to amount to the cost
Of a real human soul.
So I exist,
In my own emptiness,
I hear the hollowness,
Echoing sounds of “you could do better.”