I can't look
at old pictures
of myself and
not want to cry.
Because the camera
caught every little
detail of my body,
including the
smile set on my
lips and I want to
scream at the little
girl in the photograph
because she has naive
written all over her.
I want to scream and I
want to tell her not to
listen to the girls
who called her fat
and who pushed her
on the sidewalk
and gave her that
scar that was once a
scrape.
I want to scream at
the little girl in the
photograph for not
doing anything about
it because when she
grows up, she'll hate
herself day after
wretched day of
constantly being
torn down and expected
to blossom again.
She'll hate herself
for never realizing
that every time
she brings herself
back up,
someone is waiting
with an axe.