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

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