I don't know.
There's this thing where...
I always hate my legs.
I always wish they were longer, wish my skin was paler, calves thicker, knees less knobby and scabbed.
...and there's this thing where...
I'm standing in front of the mirror, and...
My legs are scar tissue and sunflower bruised love bites.
My legs are scabbed-over bug bites, I scratch til I bleed.
...and...
I don't care.
"They're good enough," I say.
They're fucking good enough.
See. My room is a mess, and my makeup is three days old.
I've been living out of backpacks lately because I just don't wanna be at home. I want to quit my life.
So who gives a fuck how long my legs are?
They're goddamn good enough.
...I'm goddamn good enough.
I wanna be goddamn good enough.
Fuck.