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June 18, 2009
By megan jones BRONZE, Brockton, Massachusetts
megan jones BRONZE, Brockton, Massachusetts
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There were pieces, fragments teared in shame.
her cries muffled, a sound that became smaller.
she could already see the shimmer
from the ghost
the one she use to know
the girl who felt
utterly alone
her painted face
as pale cools white
no one knew of this
not even her.

a striking image
a man with a bright light
surround him
everything felt warm
she couldn't put my finger on it.
His touch on her skin, pure bliss.
the sound of her name, so calm, colletive.
His voice like velet.
he could put anyone in a trance.
she was trapped in his presense.
He brought her from the dark.
Into the light.
He could see right through her.
he whispered "you're beautiful"
the mirrior clear as day.
positioned on the wall.
she looks up to see her reflection.
a face she learned to hide so well.
who was this girl?
she never seen her before.
the girl who was there before.
weak. damaged. feeling of self worthlessness.
those emotions were replaced.
she felt warmth, the sun, the wind ruffling her hair.
the breeze slowed down to a minimum.
the mirrior resembled a girl with pride, acceptance for herself.
she was healed.


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