I just don’t know who I am anymore. I’m sad, I’m angry, I’m empty, I’m lonely. I hate myself. I hate my face, and my body. Not only my scars that I can’t help but recreate, but my cellulite on the back of my legs and ass. The stretch marks on my thighs. The acne on my skin. The thinness of my eyelashes and lips, and the slope of my nose. I hate the fact that no guy has ever looked at me and thought, “Wow, she’s breathtaking. I’d love to get to know her.” I hate the way no guy ever looks at me, period. I hate how I can’t read all of the books in my closet as I once would’ve when I wasn’t consumed by what may possibly be depression. I hate how I’ve lost my identity as a writer, because you’re not a writer if you don’t write. I hate the thick eyeliner I’ve been putting on my eyes everyday because I’ve been waking up late every morning. I hate how I’m always tired. Every fucking day. I’m falling asleep by the middle of school, even when I go to bed at 9pm. I hate how I come in an 1 hour early to school and cry in the bathroom stall and then do downward dog for Yoga class. I hate that I’m only whispered to when someone needs an answer to a test. I hate how no one cares. How everyone puts my feelings aside. I hate the way people look at me, when they even do. How this one girl touched my shoulder today and asked me if I was goth. No. I’m not goth. I’m nothing. 
Get it right.

xxx
Talia