bulimia recovery

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  Her soul was hungry for change, but her mind was made up to stay, so her soul was left to starve, her mind in a power-hungry craze.     Nothing distracts her mind from the numbers,
  What if I told you that poets were overrated? Someone who can only write when they’re sad, Or in love or in bliss or in need of desperate rent money, Is like a flower that only drinks from a tsunami.
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