Body Image Issues

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There She Is All perfect and delicate But breakable continuing to be elegant. Her so-called goods are exposed And she doesn’t hesitate to pose. I am not saying she is no brainer
What she sees in the mirror is a shell of a person Living life but not truly living at all Not knowing when is the next time to fall Falling into the deceiving lies of the mind She soaks it up like a sponge does water
Your ribs are screaming at the surface of your skin, your spine like jagged mountains splitting your back The light in your eyes is hidden behind a film of cigarette smoke and sadness
The crisp crunch of the dead fallen leaves crunched under her boots, Silencing everything else around. She looked down at her red blistered hands, But they weren't red from the wind, snow, or cold,
Atoms. Swirling together in cluttered cosmos. My bones are made of milk past its prime. My blood is made of cheap strawberry wine.   A bragging pulse. I am still alive. Only to verify
I AM... a little girl with pigtails running around the playground full of life with not one worry in the world.
I am the rock. I keep you centered, With your feet on the ground. I make you feel better, Even when I can’t make myself feel the same.
(poems go here) The fall of eighth grade the leaves changed their glorious colors and I was diagnosed with overwhelming loneliness.
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