by Leah Maitland
(Trigger Warnings: Self Harm, Anorexia, Suicide, Mental Illness)
Daily News at 11: Pink-haired girl offers cigarette to her reflection!? I cringe at the click-bait
Craving nicotine; I clearly bummed that smoke from Ramona Flowers.
My mother scrapes her arm on my ribcage as we hug in a white haze
We toast to smallness; tracking weight I’ve lost through countless bags of all-purpose flour.
I draw a tally mark on my wrist, one for every person who thought they could fix this
The list grows along my forearm, skin blooming into a field of scabbed-over flowers.
My stalker slips another note through the vents of my locker; I’m fourteen
He calls my self-harming ‘sexy’, and I toss it next to one asking if I’ve ‘yet to be deflowered.’
A girl stops me on the street and asks how to best pull off my depressed girl chic,
She frowns when I say grippy socks, forgetting to bathe, bruises starting to flower.
Mid panic attack, my boyfriend tells me that my eyes are even prettier when I cry,
Yet somehow his reassurances of my beauty don’t stop the intrusive thoughts from flowering.
I beg for the world to let me ground my grievances, for anyone to truly listen,
Yet my headstone will read Ophelia, as you cover my grave with dried hydrangea flowers.