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.