⚠️TW: this is the first in a ‘series’, of a sort. this entire series will deal with topics generally aimed for an older audience, think 13+, at youngest maybe 12. each ‘chapter’ will have individual TWs, and some may be worse or better than others. this chapter in particular has a lot of implied/mentions of s3lf-h@+3. please don’t continue if these things make you uncomfortable.⚠️ there’s a girl in the mirror. she’s always there. every time i pass by or look inside i see her. and i can’t help but h@+3 her. her grey-blue eyes are pretty but all i can see is the acne. her long, brown locks look fun to style but all i can see are tangles and frizz. (and maybe it’s my fault, my fault i don’t do enough to clear up the acne, my fault i don’t take good enough care of my hair to get rid of the tangles and frizz, myfaulti’mjustnotgoodenough—) there’s a girl in the mirror. she’s always there. every time i pass by or look inside i see her. and i can’t help but pity her. she’s stuck in the mirror like i’m stuck in this body. she can’t break free of the ties that bind her like i can’t break free of the things that make me a ‘girl’. (but why do i feel like this, i don’t want to be a boy i like being partially a girl so why don’t i like this body, this girl’s body with girl parts that people take one look at and assume i’m a girl—) there’s a girl in the mirror. she’s always there. every time i pass by or look inside i see her. and i can’t help but remember… i am her.
bg - canva first - here next - written by me no hate of any sort in the comments. those comments will be reported. is this fiction? ah… no. is this me ranting/venting in the form of a poem about my reflection? uh… kinda sorta yeah.
