in my room, the walls are turquoise, the bedsheets are purple, the dresser is silver.
odd colors.
i don’t like any of them.
the walls have posters of artists i dont listen to.
the room used to be my sisters.
im not allowed to take them down.
the bed is filled with 12 stuffed animals.
exactly 12.
i had 25, but they were polluting the room according to my mother.
so i got rid of them.
the dresser is the only thing i like.
skincare, makeup, perfumes, lamps, my altar for my goddess all sit pretty on top.
and a huge fucking mirror for me to stare at the face i’ve spent 16 years hating.
in my room, are spots i know a boy will never touch or see.
the walls, the dresser, the bed.
it’ll never be seen in person, nor on facetime.
i’ll never explain to a boy how,
oh i actually wanted the walls to be the color of the kitchen, or
i wanted a vanity and a wardrobe instead, or
my least favorite color is purple, i don’t know why my mom thinks it’s one of my favorites.
i’ll never get the chance to say that i miss my children.
oh and ruby isn’t my favorite, but she’s the closest i can get to minnie.
my mom made me throw minnie away.
no one will ever take the time to learn all of their names just to make me smile.
not once will i tell someone how i can’t feel pretty when i have acne so i cover it with makeup and try my hardest to keep it away.
even though it’s hormonal.
not once will someone tell me im beautiful while i look into the mirror at the girl i hate so much.
even though, i know im not hideous.
my friends wouldn’t lie to me, right?
in my room, is a girl who stares at the ceiling for hours on end maladaptive day dreaming.
dreaming about the life she could’ve had.
or rather about the life she won’t have.
she stares at the walls with the posters.
she doesn’t listen to r&b much.
she’s more alternative or indie.
but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t for you.
she looks at the bed.
12 kids.
val, shelly, ruby, kitty, simon, kewpy, lulu, uni, rico, jan, lilac, and ivy.
in that order. no other order. would you remember?
she observes her face in that giant mirror.
glancing at the Aphrodite altar in shame.
she was meant to love herself. to not cover up her beauty.
yet, she will continue to do so, as she believes she’s repulsive.
physically and psychologically. might as well try to fix one of them, right?
in my room, is a girl laying on her bed with no one to talk to.
no one to complain to.
she has friends, yet she will continue being the therapist, not the burden.
in my room, is a girl laying on her back.
the posters stare.
her candles blare.
and there she lays on her “precious” ruby.
odd colors.
i don’t like any of them.
the walls have posters of artists i dont listen to.
the room used to be my sisters.
im not allowed to take them down.
the bed is filled with 12 stuffed animals.
exactly 12.
i had 25, but they were polluting the room according to my mother.
so i got rid of them.
the dresser is the only thing i like.
skincare, makeup, perfumes, lamps, my altar for my goddess all sit pretty on top.
and a huge fucking mirror for me to stare at the face i’ve spent 16 years hating.
in my room, are spots i know a boy will never touch or see.
the walls, the dresser, the bed.
it’ll never be seen in person, nor on facetime.
i’ll never explain to a boy how,
oh i actually wanted the walls to be the color of the kitchen, or
i wanted a vanity and a wardrobe instead, or
my least favorite color is purple, i don’t know why my mom thinks it’s one of my favorites.
i’ll never get the chance to say that i miss my children.
oh and ruby isn’t my favorite, but she’s the closest i can get to minnie.
my mom made me throw minnie away.
no one will ever take the time to learn all of their names just to make me smile.
not once will i tell someone how i can’t feel pretty when i have acne so i cover it with makeup and try my hardest to keep it away.
even though it’s hormonal.
not once will someone tell me im beautiful while i look into the mirror at the girl i hate so much.
even though, i know im not hideous.
my friends wouldn’t lie to me, right?
in my room, is a girl who stares at the ceiling for hours on end maladaptive day dreaming.
dreaming about the life she could’ve had.
or rather about the life she won’t have.
she stares at the walls with the posters.
she doesn’t listen to r&b much.
she’s more alternative or indie.
but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t for you.
she looks at the bed.
12 kids.
val, shelly, ruby, kitty, simon, kewpy, lulu, uni, rico, jan, lilac, and ivy.
in that order. no other order. would you remember?
she observes her face in that giant mirror.
glancing at the Aphrodite altar in shame.
she was meant to love herself. to not cover up her beauty.
yet, she will continue to do so, as she believes she’s repulsive.
physically and psychologically. might as well try to fix one of them, right?
in my room, is a girl laying on her bed with no one to talk to.
no one to complain to.
she has friends, yet she will continue being the therapist, not the burden.
in my room, is a girl laying on her back.
the posters stare.
her candles blare.
and there she lays on her “precious” ruby.