My Reflection Shows

I hate the mirror on the wall. I hate the person staring back at me. I hate the way she looks as she stares right through me. I don't want to be her. I want to rip the flesh from her bones and play Picasso for a day, just so I can paint it all over again. Maybe this time, a little bit more like the girl I want her to be. I hate the shape she forms. I hate the space she occupies because skinny is not in her dictionary. I despise the way she looks on the outside and I can't stand who she is on the inside. I want more than just simple flesh tones and a half-hearted smile. I want more than just some freak with mascara running down her face because she can't hold back. I hate the way she stares at me after a shower because the time she spent praying just to relax under a waterfall of hot water, was really time she that she fought the silence because it was screaming the truth. I hate the scars on her arms and legs. I hate what they mean and I hate the temptation that she fights off everday just to keep the blood from trickling down her sleeve. I hate her eyes because they see the real me. I hate her smile because it's so fake. I hate the person she was and the person she is and the person she will become. I hate that she exists. I hate that she is me.