I was not beautiful.

I am not beautiful.

I will never be beautiful.

But I could be thin.

It began as a whisper

It grew louder, it spoke to me

Until every day it was a

Screaming in my ear,

Shouting until I couldn’t

Think anymore.

She took my life.

She poked at my thighs,

Pressing the tip of her finger

Into the soft flesh,

Pinching my rosy cheeks

Until they turned hollow and

Pale, like the rest of me.

She traced every part of

Me that was not perfect

And then it disappeared

And I was gone.

I was not beautiful,

But I was in control.

I was a whisper instead

Of a shout,

An afterthought carried

Through the rolling storm,

Weightless and free.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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