from the bottom of my empty heart

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Skin

My face isn’t perfect.

But nothing is, right?

We’re all cut from the same cloth anyway,

so we’re really just a whole together.

I’m all lines and skinny bones, but who’s keeping track, really?


there was a time my face

started seeming unfamiliar

when i looked

inside the mirror.

i wasn’t looking at me, but at

somebody else completely.

sure, some things matched.

those same jealous eyes.

the same thick, angry eyebrows.

i had changed,

and i knew it.

i wasn’t the same little girl anymore.


and so i cried.


i cried and i hid,

from the world, from myself.

i wanted to rip the ugly coat i was wearing

that i bought three sizes too big, or three

sizes too small, off my body.

my tiny body, worthless,

riddled with invisible scars.

how could i do this to myself?

after all i’d worked for?

summer ended, and fall came.

i started school again.

repeat, repeat, repeat.

the same cycles went on and on

for far too long. i wish i could say

something happened then to lift my yielding

spirits, but i have nothing to say.

nothing at all. i was a cold,

hard bottle of dry

tears made from

collecting dust.


that hasn't changed.

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