poem (not mine, thought it was pretty)

she writes a list
along her fragile wrist
of all the things she hates about herself,
and of others that hater her.

he sees her ever-growing list
and kisses them,
one by one
"this list does not define you"
he whispers,
twisting a strand of her hair
in his lovely fingers

she could not bring herself
to believe all this,
for who would love
a monster such as herself?

"we all have monsters inside us, darling"
he said,
pulling up his sleeve
revealing his own list.