Bones poking

potruding, prodding

pride? how does this belong

looking in the mirror I feel disgust

but not from the bones

from the skin

how can i not see the horror

this is not what it means to be healthy

This poem is about: 



Why does everyone "like" my hair?

They don't try to curl theirs

No models have curly hair

Then why do other call mine beautiful

They would never trade places

"Too much effort"

"You don't brush it?"

"Too frizzy"

The grass may always be greener on the other side

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