I am Magdalena.
Smart, ugly, calm, bursting with life.
The skin I’m in is glittering and rough.
The scars on the surface remind me of all my crazy stunts that almost got me killed as a child and the angry faces of my mother trying to stop me.
In my clear-sparkly caramel eyes I see the world I can’t have, and all the mean words that eat me from the inside.
Like a worm that kills an apple form the heart, slowly biting through its skin, murdering it.
In my smile I feel my regrets sinking in and weighing me down, even when I try to fly away and leave everything that saddens me behind.
Sickening, sad songs.
From my lips, I say I’m capable, able to do anything I set my mind to, able to rise up from the ashes and build a new world for myself.
People outside me think I’m smart and that my life is perfect like a flawless diamond with no scratches.
In my ears, I hear the words I don’t want to admit to myself, the words that say the truth that bites through my skin and stabs my heart with a dagger ten times.
Inside my skin I feel uncertain, uncertain of what to say and what to be, uncertain of who I am and who I will be.
My skin does not always show the real me.
The real me is poetic and free and special and true to what she believes, and doesn’t care what people say.
Someday, I don’t know when, I don’t know how, I will love the skin I’m in.
Smart, ugly, calm, bursting with life.
The skin I’m in is glittering and rough.
The scars on the surface remind me of all my crazy stunts that almost got me killed as a child and the angry faces of my mother trying to stop me.
In my clear-sparkly caramel eyes I see the world I can’t have, and all the mean words that eat me from the inside.
Like a worm that kills an apple form the heart, slowly biting through its skin, murdering it.
In my smile I feel my regrets sinking in and weighing me down, even when I try to fly away and leave everything that saddens me behind.
Sickening, sad songs.
From my lips, I say I’m capable, able to do anything I set my mind to, able to rise up from the ashes and build a new world for myself.
People outside me think I’m smart and that my life is perfect like a flawless diamond with no scratches.
In my ears, I hear the words I don’t want to admit to myself, the words that say the truth that bites through my skin and stabs my heart with a dagger ten times.
Inside my skin I feel uncertain, uncertain of what to say and what to be, uncertain of who I am and who I will be.
My skin does not always show the real me.
The real me is poetic and free and special and true to what she believes, and doesn’t care what people say.
Someday, I don’t know when, I don’t know how, I will love the skin I’m in.