As I stare motionlessly at the chipped bits of my fingernails and realise how fragile and miniature my hands are, my mind sprints into a million thoughts...
Why do I do all these things to myself?
Why didn't I stop myself?
Why did you have to put your life at risk like that Dianne?
Why did you have to become part of the norm?
Why did you embrace your stereotype?
Why did you drift so far into sin and not care to stop it?
Why have you defied yourself the ability to think?
Why... Why... Why...
I've put myself at risk, compromising the girl I've worked so hard to become.
The lady I have groomed myself to marry.
The female I've made so manly.
Looking down at myself with raging disbelief... Maybe one day I'll forgive myself.
Body making foul sounds that eco the events I dare not to think about...
Counting days, weeks, months, cycle after cycle.....
I don't know what to look forward to besides the last thing I want, need....
So much for looking forward to being loved…
Wondering why he doesn't seem to love me enough...
Maybe it’s because of the chipped bits of my fingernails that make me realise how miniature my hands are.
Maybe I simply need to start loving myself...
Oh but I wish I knew how...
Nothing is meant to make sense at this point in my life... Nothing seems to be sensible enough to think about...
I try to rest my thoughts but nothing seems to help...
Can’t we fix me permanently?
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