She’s not the kind of girl that likes to tell the world about the way she feels about herself.

Every day becomes a more intolerable strain. She puts on baggy clothes to cover her skinny figure that, in her eyes, is too large. The mirror is a portal into her flaws, the millions that appear before her in the image shown.

She’s not the kind of girl that likes to tell the world about the way she feels about herself.

Most days end in silent sobs of remorse and guilt, anger and frustration. Why can’t she just be as effortlessly pretty as all the other girls? Why is it that she, the quiet girl in the back of the class, that hides her face in public, gets teased and tormented? Do they not know that they are the reasons for the scars on her wrists?

She’s not the kind of girl that likes to tell the world about the way she feels about herself.

Sometimes, she is confronted by people and they try to make her into someone she’s not. They don’t understand her and so they end up casting her out. The empty questions they ask aren’t because they care, but simply protocol. The answers she returns are so emotionless and lacking in truth that she wonders how they believe it.
She’s not the kind of girl that likes to tell the world about the way she feels about herself.
There are often days in which she wishes she weren’t alive, but nobody suspects that. She suffers in silence and watches her life pass by in sudden lulls and lurches, like a movie playing backwards, she is confused. This isn’t the way she thought life was suppose to be so, she decided to. ..
She’s not the kind of girl that likes to tell the world about the way she feels about herself.
Now, she’s gone.