The Enemy

These hands

Give care, warmth, support to others

Lifting them up to feel the love in the world

 

These hands

Feel every imperfection, bump, defect of my body

Scratching & picking away

Till they are stained

With my blood.

There is no pain greater than seeing how much I hate my own body, skin, blood.

 

Each scab becomes a scar

Forever showing my hatred of my own body, skin, blood.

 

People say you have to love yourself before you can love others.

 

I dont love anything about me.

I am simple, plain, boring.

Nothing but a scar of memories. Of broken skin, stained by pain.

 

I hate every scar I have.

It shows my pain, even when all I want is to hide it away.

Pretend it isn’t there. Everything is alright.

My body is a scar, wound, battlefield.

And my hands.

My hands are the enemy.

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