It’s the inside that matters
Remember, what's on the outside isn't important. It's what's on the inside that matters.
Like how inner beauty is more important than outer beauty. How in fruits like coconuts, it's the inside that you eat, not the outside shell. And how the treasure of a treasure chest is, well, inside the chest and not the wooden chest itself.
So blacken my eyes. Cut me till I bleed. You can break every bone in this fragile body of glass, and it wouldn't matter. Not with me like this right now: my heart broken, my hope dead, and my soul shattered.
So kick me. Scratch me. Punch me. Stone me. I don't care. Everything important that I have has already been destroyed.
The Last Words of Angels
I'm still here, but you're not.
I'm still that child, who goes playing the meadows of flowers and rolling around in those green pastures, that child who still plays with bubbles and plays with food, that child who finds everything funny and laughs at everything, that child who doesn't get hurt by words or betrayal, that child who lives in such blissful ignorance.
You were here, just like me, a few years ago. But then you grew up. You stopped playing in the meadows with me, stopped rolling around in pastures with me, stopped playing with food and playing with bubbles, stopped laughing with me and you distanced yourself from me altogether.
I haven't heard your laughter for months. You get hurt so much. Every time I see you, your eyes are downcast, and I see something breaking slowly and painfully inside them. Your fire is gone, your smile has disappeared, your eyes are sunken and bloodshot and your shoulders are hunched as though they carry the weight of the world.
They say it's beautiful to see a child grow up, but I don't agree. I think it's scary. They grow up so fast. This, I agree, and it's heartbreaking. What's happened to you, older sister? Why is it that you hide away in your room alone every night? Why is it that when I go into your room in the morning, your pillow is wet and the little vegetable knife on your table is stained with crimson?
I see the lines that adorn your skin. I think they are rather pretty, pink, white and red, decorating your wrists. Though, I don't think I'd like to have some of my own.
Now I play alone in the meadows, roll around alone in the green pastures, play with bubbles by myself, laugh alone. It's so lonely without you here. You don't play with me anymore. You don't even love me anymore, do you?
If this is growing up, I don't want to. I want to stay young forever, to keep my halo and my wings. Yours have been ripped away from you, but I'm keeping mine.
Please, someone, I beg you to save me before I begin to fall. Please, save me. Let me stay like this, stay a child forever. I don't want to grow up.
But if one day, I do grow up, then let this be the last words of an angel.
Me.
They told me
"You should be yourself"
And yet
They told me
I wasn't good enough.
They told me
"The inside matters more than the outside"
And yet
They shamed me for being fat
And laughed at my body
And told me I was ugly
So, so ugly
I shouldn't be seen in public.
They told me
"It's okay to cry sometimes"
Then one day
When everything
Just hurt too much
I broke down in public
And they told me
To stop being an attention seeker
And stop being so emotional
And stop overreacting
Because
Everyone really hates people
Who cry too much.
They told me
"We're here for you"
So I tried to ask
For help
And told them
My problems.
Why is it
That they simply
Scolded me
And told me
That they had their own problems to deal with
And not to burden others
With mine.
So in the end
I'm just a girl
Who's
Not good enough
Fat
Ugly
Attention-seeking
And a
Burden.
So in the end
I took everything
That was me
And I crushed it underneath
The soles of my feet
Into pieces so small
That no one could see them
At all.
Not even me.
Now
I can't remember
Who I was
Before the world
Told me who to be.