fuckyeahlaughters:

i think that everyone has scars

maybe not on their wrists or their inner thighs or on their knees

but

on their hearts, souls, and between the cracks and crevices of the little universes they’ve created inside of themselves

(Source: unwantedspeculations)

CHOP-STICK

I have 4 best friends. They’re all stick thin like chopsticks (one of them is like a pencil though). I’m the donut in the group. When they take pictures of themselves, I sulk in the background. I do 20/50/100 crunches a day and 50/70 push-ups. None of it works. I try not to eat. Still doesn’t work. What’s wrong with me? Why am I such a pig? Why are they perfect while I’m a stupid blowfish?

Blah. Blah. Blah.

My four best friends: *Judy, *Marybeth, *Lillian, *Melissa; blonde, blonder, brunette, hybrid; model, singer, dancer, chic; sexy, envied, adored, glorified.

My cheekbones are buried under mounds of cheek fat, abs hidden beneath a saggy belly, thighs going down in layers of nothing else but fat, fat, fat. My calves are like wineglasses: big on top, thins to the bottom. Fucking chicken-leg calves. Don’t get me started on my jiggling arm muscles, as if there are even any muscles left in them. Then there’s my ass, covered in lumps made of fries, nachos, chips, pizza; all the good stuff that are palpably bad for you.

I took this body age test thing online and it showed that my body’s like twenty-two years old. Whoa. I’m still sixteen, barely-growing-out-my-bones, as short as a footstool, and that stupid test tells me I’m twenty-two and legal. Fuck it.

I’m Wolfeanne, by the way. It’s pronounced as wolf-ee-yan. Don’t diss the name cause I came up with it. I’m a college sophomore, living inconspicuously amongst the geniuses in my university. Don’t ask me how I got in. Believe me, it’s a mystery to everyone.

No one really knows about my inner problems and that I’m struggling to become a lamppost. Laugh with me here. Anyway, my weight has always troubled me from the moment I stepped on that scale. ‘Pound for pound heavyweight’ they used to call me. Fuck them all. Right now, I’m sort of getting sick of everything they throw at me. Sick of the FAT, UGLY, BIG ASS, GUMBALL insults. If I get sick enough, I might as well puke it all out. Then I’ll be that lamppost. A thin, pretty, admired lamppost.