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Weekly Contest #160
It wasn’t always like this. Butterflies used to soar when I would hear the name Makaela. Grasshoppers used to sing melodic harmonies when I would hear the name Makaela. But not anymore. I now look myself in the mirror, gaze drifting off the parts I felt a passionate hatred towards; it was my chest, my curves, my hairless body that aggravated me to the point of tears. Fingers would curl up into my scalp, begging to rip out every bit of hair that was attached; maybe it will make me feel like a person. Maybe it will make me love myself more...
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