Skinny

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You're worthless. You will never matter. Nobody will ever remember you. You won't be loved. You're lazy. You're unsuccessful. You're ugly. You look fat. You will never be pretty. Stop eating. Big girl. Nerd. You don't work enough. Be more disciplined. Loser. Tomboy. Have some control. Be more productive. Your nose is too big. Your boobs are too small. You're so weak. Hate yourself. Go kill yourself.

You're wasting your life.

You only love yourself. Nothing matters to you. You're shallow. Your life is empty. Your priorities are wrong. You're too skinny. You work too much. Live a little. You think you're better than us. Little miss popular. It's just a cake, why are you so scared? What do you mean you're not happy—your life is perfect. Attention seeker. Stop being so restrictive. You're so fake. Stop doing plastic surgeries. You're too cold. You're dumb.

You're wasting your life.

You have to keep pushing forward. Keep your mind busy. If you accidentally stop and let your mind wander, it will find all the dark places in no time. The immense sorrow, guilt, and panic will consume you. You're hopeless. Tired. You've had enough, and it will try to come out of your lungs as a scream, run down your cheeks as a tear, show from your eyes as fear, knock you down as your legs give in.

Shake it off, baby. As fast as you can. Keep pushing. That's the only way to survive.

Keep smiling. Keep posing. Keep working. Tone that body. Eat that salad. Skip those carbs. Take those injections. Stay strong. Own the pain. Be politically correct. Be a good role model. Be real.

This is what they wanted. This is what they asked for. This is the way to be worthy, to be special.

Do I matter now? Will you love me now? Am I girly enough? Have I shown enough of my life to you—is it now real? Am I real enough? Am I funny enough, smart enough?

What more do you want from me?

I've tried to become something. Something that matters. Instead, I've lost myself on the way. But that's okay, as long as you love me, right? As long as you can count my ribs, as long as my bra size is big enough, my waist-hip ratio is correct, my bank account shows a certain number, and I have thousands of followers and likes. This is what life is about. That's what you told me.

I'm perfect. Are you proud?

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About this piece: The assignment was to write a text based on a song of choice. The song the text below is based on is Kaleo's "Skinny".