Bully

You're ugly.
You're stupid.
You'll never amount to anything.
No one will ever like you.
If you think he'll stay, you're mistaken.

You have no friends.
People hate you.
You are a freak.
You have no place here.
You are nothing more than a coward who
is too afraid to step outside half the time.

Your face is like something from a horror movie.
No one will ever truly fall in love with you.
Guys want girls that are beautiful and face it,
you are considered everything but that.

Hide behind your hair dye because you want to
feign like you don't care.
But inside the cruel eyes of others burn holes into
your soul.

You will never amount to anything.
The only thing you will ever be good for
is cleaning up dog shit.
You will never be good enough.
Why bother even dreaming?

How can you consider the possibility of love
when everything you do, the way you look, walk,
talk, move, think, can only ever be seen as
ugly.

Not only is the outside hideous;
the inside is no better.
Why do you think you've never been on a date?
You have nothing going for you because even your
personality sucks.

Your eyebrows are too thick.
Your nostrils are shaped funny.
Your face is too big and fat.
Your shoulders too broad.

Your stomach's too weird.
Your eyes are nothing special.
Your hands and feet too large
to belong to a woman.

Your teeth are crooked.
Your nose too big and wide.
Your build is something that
can never be desired.

You don't need to be here.
You have no point, no place.
Nothing to live for.

Just kill yourself already.


Voices set on replay
like a record in my head,
playing every single time I wish to sleep
or glance at my reflection.

Because sometimes in life you find,
the biggest bully of them all,
aren't the trolls and sharped tongued teens
you find online and in school buildings.

Sometimes the cruelest tormentor,
the one wishing you ill will,
is the person staring out at you
from a sheet of glass, mirror.

You are your hardest critic.
This has been said before but,
sometimes I can't help to think
that maybe all these things are said
for a certain reason.

Sticks and stones may break bones
but bones can be set and healed.
Yet words slice through your brain and soul
etch permanent cracks on the heart.

No matter how much glue you use,
the cracks always remain just below
the surface and each time they feel better;
each time the pain weakens,

the words start up again.
Impaling you with truths that cut
deeper than any knife could do and
causing much more damage.

Who can save you from yourself?
Who can stop the evil thoughts,
if you haven't the ability to
make them go away yourself?

I am my own enemy.
The destroyer of my own soul.

Hi, my name's Rebecca.

And I am a bully.