Distortion.

The course of my thoughts are red, red like the smudged lipstick around my lips. My eyes pierce the mirror with dread, I begin to distort and become sick. The decorative metal in my ears is quartz to a stone. The makeup I wear is Diamond to a gravel road. I wear jewelry to accentuate my insecurities, but point them out before someone manages to get to me. I hide my body under thick cotton sweaters and baggy sweatpants, the jokes they made stuck to me and stained my brain. I will never work the same