eyes, lips, face, I hate it all.

I grew up being told I was beautiful.

Typical white beauty.

"Oh, you better watch out when you're older, the boys will be breaking down the door."

I grew up thinking I was beautiful,

and with that, I grew up not trusting men.

I was told they only wanted one thing from beautiful girls like me,

and that I was to guard that thing, because it was precious.

Well, that thing was taken from me at eight years old, but that isn't the point of this poem.

I have never saw a boy and not thought about what he was thinking about me.

Talk about toxic feminimity, I mean,

how narcisistic did they raise me to be?

Now, I look into the mirror, and it breaks.

I break as the glass shatters, as the mirror recoils.

I hate everything about how I look.

I fucking loathe myself, and I can't figure out when I stopped believeing the people who told me I was pretty.

I feel annoying when I can't take a compliment,

but I cannot accept that anyone would find me attractive.

When a guy tells me I'm cute,

I look at myself,

at my boring face, my flat chest and my basic brown hair and eyes,

my mishappen body and my irritating personality,

and I figure he's joking.

He's making fun of me.

I've pushed away people who would probably be good for me,

and the only people I let near me are the people who treat me like shit.

I am so goddamn masochistic that I cannot allow myself to be loved.

God.

Self-hate is this screwdriver that drills you deeper and deeper into the plank of misery.

I thought I was beautiful.

But really I am a fake, a real-life catfish,

because when I look in the mirror I see the inner ugliness,

and she sees nothing but the makeup I cake over the trainwreck.

I love her,

but it would be best for her if she hated me.

This poem is about: 
Me

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