I’m a snail who thinks its shell isn’t enough protection, so I let music and doc martins and hard stares hide me from people. I’m unapproachable and dark as I make sure my music blares loud enough to be heard by passersby, pounding and filled with electric guitar. I say it’s because I don’t like people but I’m only scared that people won’t like me if I let them in. So I hide my baby skin with cynicism and big black boots.
Baggy shirts and no makeup and short hair hide me from myself. No one will want to see my knobby arms and chubby belly and stretch mark thighs if my pimples show through and the only color on my face is in the dark purple bags under my eyes. Each morning is spent trying to ignore the reflection in my mirror. I say it’s because I’m too lazy to care but really it’s the only thing on my mind. So I hide my baby heart with apathy and overgrown eyebrows because I’m the snail who wishes she was born a slug but is too attached to her shell to let go.