Angélic
I’d always been told my skin was soft.
My lips were perfect and plump.
I had perfect posture.
I walked like I was on a runway.
Then my soft skin turned to bumps.
I made such angelic gashes in my once divine flesh.
The perfect kissable lips I once had are gone.
They are chapped and bloodied.
The Angélic posture was gone.
I walk lifeless and slouched over.
This poem is about:
Me
Our world