sticks and stones, skin and bones.

they say it's all in my mind, the reason im like this.
they see my fragile body and protruding bones,
my skin scattered with raised and jagged scars.
their eyes widen in horror and avert from mine.
eye contact is never easy.
i can hear them whispering as i pass, reinforcing what I already know.
its hard to meet people's eyes when i know exactly what they're thinking.

"Skinny bitch."
"Attention seeker."
"Freak."
"She's obviously messed up."
"What does her mother say?"

that's not that part that hurts the worst.
sideways glances and stranger's speculations are nothing to me.
no, the worst part is knowing there is not a thing i can do to stop.
this feeling will plauge me forever, i am completely consumed by it.
this disease has seeped into my mind and emptied my soul.
because every reflection and every magazine cover reminds me that i will never be good enough.