Distorted

Children's games of seeing things that aren't there.
Fun fair mirrors become your only view to your salvation.
Fat. Fat. So much fat.
Thin becomes thick and brick wall.
Average becomes monstrous and hideous.
Those buckled bones and clawing hands the only tool for redemption.

Pointed fingers enter and life comes gushing forth, flushed down and away like the hatred inside.
Thin. Must be thin.
Jagged edges cut and scar and bleed away hurtful words and hate filled glances.
Wash away.

And there is that one moment.
When there is burning and blood at which point the twisted glass crumbles to sand.
And it doesn't matter.
It hurts but it doesn't matter because you have it.
You are holding bones inside your hands when they are placed on your body.
And you don't care that blood is stained and skin is strained across it all.

It is prominent and it is thin.
And you are finally pretty.

But everyone else just sees a troubled little girl.
Trapped inside the dragons cave.
Revelling in the burn of the fire.
Because she deserves it.

 

Because she is so fat, she can see all her bones.