Thursday, May 19, 2011

I know the person, all too well.
Her flat, spread feet. Her ankles, barely distinguishable from her too wide calves- fair enough, if they were muscle. But they aren't. How can they be, when she doesn't do any exercise? Usually covered in bruises, as are her knees. Her knees are a masochist gone wild, but the knees her scars inhabit are only a victim of her own clumsiness,rather than any intention. Her flaccid, pale thighs, dimpled and shadowed by excess skin and fat. Her pelvic bones, which rise up unnaturally from a flat surface, then the pocket of her stomach, which slopes up unnaturally from the space between her pelvic bones. Her waist, something that needs to be reduced to what it used to be, something that has grown drastically. Her ribs aren't visible anymore, unless she sucks herself in. Her collarbones- the only thing she doesn't mind about her physical self. Her thick neck, with an imitation Adam's Apple. Was she meant to be male? Her sickly face, her square jaw, her chin, ever reddening with the presence of another pimple, her overgrown lips with their moustache, her dimples which make her an overgrown child, her nose, covered in blackheads and freckles. She looks out, but it's the bags that look at you, not the eyes. Hey eyes themselves are a mess of colour- someone's thrown some blue, some green, some brown in there, and they're red and sore looking from tears or sickness, always. Her forehead, too large,so she covers it with ugly hair, which always has the appearance of being greasy. This girl is pitiful.
However, on any other body she'd admire it, and she'd take a lot worse if she could just be happy.

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