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I look around me keeping my shoulders stooped, as if to protect myself from those razer-thin whispers.
Girls made out of paper and skinny, skinny bones glare at me over their diet sodas, clutched by stick-like fingers.
I am not welcome here in their imaginary world of perfect legs and calorie burning pills.
I am Alyx S.
I am Xsquared pounds.
I am not talented, pretty, or acceptable.
I am far from perfect.





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blackamethyst said...
Jun. 21, 2009 at 3:22 pm
I like your poem. Thank you for being realistic and at least admitting you're not perfect; none of us are and only the strongest of us can admit it.
 
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