Writing the third:

Kathy: I haven’t written much today so sorry qwq

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The kid stares into the mirror

At the body they possess

So strange to find such a monopolised object in their possession

Completely their own

Free to make choices and alterations

They can cut it's hair and paint it's nails

Use its voice and move it's arms

So strange how many people want it

And to control it, power over it

Ravaging like wolfs around a slab of meat

Funny how they want it more than the kid

Not entirely sure if they like it or not

Tilting their head to the side

Wanting to like it, wanting to love it

Because they love their mum

And their mum said "love yourself"

It's pretty,

the body in the mirror

It contains about a billion flaws that society could peck at

Like vultures, built to tear flesh

With bare teeth and surgical scalpels

Make-up brushes and camera angels

But they pay no mind

They never liked society

And their mum's lesson was so much nicer

Plus to have something so many people want?

Autonomy over something in which its control is so sought after?

Feels pretty powerful

Freedom tastes pretty

Like flowers in hair and rosy cheeks

Short clothes in nightmare heat

Wolfs and hounds at its feet

But still,

Staring in the mirror for so long,

Distorts the lens,

Yes the body is pretty but is it yours?

You use it as a tool

To fulfil your desires

Extend an arm to grab the cup

Kick your leg to close the door

You enjoy it objectively

You enjoy the power

You enjoy it as a pawn on your chess table

Facinated that only you can move the piece

But what if it was another colour?

Would you like it more?

Would if feel like yours?

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Fall through into the face of death

En guard, bear arms!

Pour le chateau, pour the gateau

Down gullible throats, a beverage

Blood

Clots in my guts

And palisades turn to rust

Dust in my gullet as the sweet scent of

Betrayal

It irks me, and I yearn for peace of mind

Yet my battlements are hoarse,

My mind rotting like my corpse

I sink into my hearse and swallow

The pill, I scream out and bubble in blood

This is how to lack self love

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I like myself,

like I genuinely do,

I like my interests

I like my hobbies

I like that that's what gives me enjoyment,

I like the way I look,

I like the way I act (sometimes) ,

I like my creativity,

my writing,

my art,

I like my room and my family,

I like my style

and my wishes,

I like my friends,

I like my life,

I think it's fun,

I even like my problems,

I think they are very me, sometimes I look at myself and the things I do and think "no one else could be living this life"

I think it's so perfect for me

and I know that's because it's mine and therefore tailored to me

but I have so much freedom,

I can act apon my wishes,

talk to people I love,

watch things I enjoy,

I get to create art,

I get to learn things,

I get to do puzzles and hyperfixate,

I get to see my family every other week,

I get to walk my dogs and watch tv with my mum,

I get to text my girlfriend,

I get to play roblox with my sibling,

I get to go outside and taste the air,

I get to brush my hair and have warm showers,

I get to have a 16+ railcard,

I get to go to college,

I get to to have a provisional licence

I get to sit in the sun,

and watch my scars darken along with my skin,

because I made it to 16;