physical appearance
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Thing is,
The days she wakes up
With dread for the mirror
And nights crumble away
With never-ending tears.
Because she isn’t-
Because she can’t be-
Because she’ll never be-
With lips red as the rose
So sweet and tender as the fragrance,
As they gently arose
A soften form of patience.
A pair of rubies made in flesh
Belonging to only you,
The breath exhaled of air so fresh
