Of all the things I’ve learnt from love, I’ve best learnt how to hate myself.

To see the tardy, marred and repulsive image of the girl left behind.

To find a place accepting of the “undeserving” label I’ve thoughtfully given myself.

To be ok with knowing that no one would look at me and see what soul I’ve left.

To batter myself to a pulp so I’m forever uglier inside than I was yesterday.

To see myself and not recognise myself for fear I’d come to love me.

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