A.N/ This is an old one shot that really makes no sense. It's supposed to be about how daughters of Aphrodite, sometimes have some trouble trying to be perfect, and sometimes, there's a reason that they are obsessed with long sleeved, designed sweaters.
Drag the small dagger slowly and forcefully across your perfect skin.
Etch just deep enough to leave a thin trail of blood, deep enough to leave behind a scar, like you don't have plenty already.
Each scar was a flaw, and a flaw, you can't have. We must be perfect, no scars, there's another flaw.
One more scar.
The pain is controlling, a harsh little hint.
Your hair is unkempt and unmanageable
One more scar
You're overweight, not supermodel skinny
One more scar
You're not in love with anyone and no one loves you
One more scar
You're a bitch
One more scar
You're the dumbest in your class
One more scar
You smell bad and need extra deodorant
One more scar
You have such a big nose
One more scar
You have huge feet
One more scar
You don't have a flat stomach
One more scar
You're supposed to ooze confidence
One … More … Scar
One, by one, they all add up, a plethora of scars … a plethora of flaws. A patchwork quilt is sewn on you fragile wrist, the slow slices adding more and more rows.
Staring at the surface, seeing reason upon reason, as to why, there should be more.
You called Tara from Demeter cabin, huge thighed, well you can't even wrap you your hands around your own.
Each insult you spew out, comes crawling back toward you. Whispered in your head, twirling and whirling back around again, all directed at you.
Slice, Slice, Slice.
You called Matt, son of Ares hairy, look who forgot to shave her armpits this morning.
Slice, Slice, Slice.
You called Will, from Apollo untalented, and how many instruments can you play, yeah, 0.
Slice, Slice, Slice.
You called Clarisse a pig, you actually ate 3 meals yesterday.
Slice, Slice, Slice.
Why aren't you perfect? Why don't you live up to cabin 10 standards? Why aren't you lovely? Why aren't you a beauty? Why aren't you a dove? Why aren't you what they want you to be?
You brush back a tear, using the hand on you freshly cut arm. You see your wrist, a plain now etched with scars. You see your wrist, now a field of flaws.
There are so many more, you can add. You feel the urge, the need to expand. However, now, fixing your eye make-up is your highest demand.
A.N/ Yeah … that was crap. But, still read and review. Favorite too!