The Twisted

March 19, 2018

If only cutting your words out of my head was as easy

as cutting my wrists

Semi permanent reminders of where you hurt me.

where you hate me.

Twisted tales of perfection have thwarted what you

see.

contorted what you say.

you let them tell you to fit a perfectly insurmountable

goal.

flawlessly told me i was flawed.

drained i was consumed by your words i gave them

power and they crushed me.

flat. the fingers the fingers your words pushed down

my throat,

my insecurities spewed across the toilet bowl,

if only.

 

 

-illustration by Cathy Knight-

little red riding hood enters her bedroom

it’s been a long day

she walks up the stairs

wipes the paint off her face

gets rid of her ruby red cape

finishes the muffins she was meant to give to her gran

looks in the mirror

stares blatantly at a reflection she cannot recognize

 

she thinks to herself things that every teenage girl - whether

they’ve had a near death experience with a wolf or not-  

has thought:

 

Oh what a big nose you have

 

all the better for others to tease you with

using your pre-possessing features as weapons

each taunt a bullet to your heart  

 

Oh what big thighs you have

 

all the better to hide them under baggy clothes

anything to hide the fat around your bones

Oh how much you wish it was just bones

Oh what a spotty face you have

all the better to cover with makeup

cake your face with the perfect qualities

you so wish you were born with

 

Oh what ugly body you have

all the more reason to wish the wolf had gobbled me up the first time he ever saw me step through the door

 

because now I fear

the real monster

is me

 

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Geneva, Switzerland