Ink Stained Soul…

Your words seeped into my skin like poison, convincing me I wasn’t enough. The way you discarded me for others, deeming them more worthy, still echoes in my mind. I let those long-forgotten whispers of imperfection define me, reducing my body to something to be used. The silence that followed was deafening, amplifying my demons and letting them run wild. I’m ashamed to admit I still succumb to the familiar patterns of self-destruction – starving, exercising until I collapse. Yet, with each passing day, I’m learning to recognize the triggers, to course-correct faster. And when I look in the mirror, I see a person who’s bruised, battered, but still standing.