The rain falls all around me
But not a drop lands on my skin.
The wind whistles in my ears
But I cannot feel it.
Every sensory nerve in my body is numb
Every inch of my body is untouched.
My bare body is exposed,
And yet there is no one to look at me
But my own reflection in the mirror ahead of me
And I stare in distaste at myself.
“You could use some work,”
I tell myself this as I reach my hand out
And I touch hands with my reflection
But I can’t feel it.
“No wonder no one wants to be around you.”
I scold myself lightly; sadly.
“You are just disgusting to look at.
“You have fat here, and fat there… it’s everywhere.
“Your posture is awful.
“Your eyes are vacant and dead.
“Your breasts are too small, and your hips too wide.
“You’ve got those nasty scars on your legs.
“You’ve got those nasty scars on your chest.”
I look at my hand.
“You have this grotesque thing on your hand.”
I examine my vacant eyes again;
They don’t glow like the eyes of someone
Who is compassionate and loving.
They are empty; they are vacant.
They are dead, when I look at them.
“You understand nothing.
“You are young.”
And it is true; I am young.
But what is young?
Am I young at heart?
The gentle pitter-patter of the rain is lost
To my deaf ears, which only want to hear
The negative things that I am saying about myself.
My knees are weak, and I give in
Falling – what seems like slowly – to the ground.
My hand slides down, leaving a trail where it touches
The rain droplets; but I don’t feel it.
I wrap my arms around myself,
To give myself the reassurance that I can feel,
But I cannot even feel my own embrace.
I glance into the mirror again, noting the weight
That I have put on, and I am disgusted.
I look at my hands again
And I bury my face in them.
“You are ugly.”
I tell myself this small thing
Which I find to be fact.
“You are untouchable.
“That is why no one wants to touch you.
“That is why no one wants to be around you.
“People treat you as if you are untouchable,
“Simply because you are.”
I claw at my eyes
And I tear at my hair;
And I scream at the top of my lungs;
And I slam my fists against the mirror;
And I cry and I cry and I cry.
“You are pathetic!
“You want someone to lie to you?!
“To sing to you,
“To kiss you good night,
“To be there?!
“You’re stupid!
“No one has time for an untouchable,
“Ugly,
“Pathetic thing like you!”
I slam my fists hard enough against the glass
That it shatters beneath my touch.
The shards cut my body as they fall to the ground
And I can only wonder what ugly scars
They are to leave next.
I fold my body in half, resting my head
On the tops of my thighs
And I cry into my own skin.
Before too long, a blanket is thrown over me
But I don’t have the strength to turn and see
Who decided to give me their help.
I can feel the warmth of this blanket, though.
“This blanket does not think that I am untouchable.”
I let myself fall onto my side.
“This ground does not think that I am untouchable.”
I close my eyes.
“Whoever gave me this blanket must not truly believe that I am untouchable…”

The rain touches my face.
The wind sweeps through my hair.
My tears warm my face.
“You are untouchable,”
A voice whispers to me,
“But that does not mean that you cannot feel.”