The Problem

She lived for peace, but would die for beauty, that was the problem…

Red lipstick only stains the party drinks and the mascara only runs down her cheeks when she’s alone.

High heels only made her feet swell and tight dresses only made her eat less.

That was the problem.

She lived for love but couldn’t love herself.

Lying between sweaty sheets from the drugs that made her look tough.

Lying to herself about the alcohol burning her throat and the hands trailing up her dress.

She lived for hope, but couldn’t shake the feeling of the empty space between her rib cage.

That was the problem.

She couldn’t live a life being happy with herself.

Her very being wasn’t enough to keep her standing tall, wasn’t enough to ground her to this world where beauty and pain are one in the same.

She stood in front of him, naked horripilated skin exposed, blood pounding through her veins and not one ounce of confidence.

She lived for him and he walked away.

And that was the problem.