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My brown hair swirls around my baby face
lightest of light skin, brightest blue eyes stand out of place.
Not skinny enough but not quite fat
I look at photos and wish I could look like that.
My bones are misshapen
and my illness is always mistaken.
I'd given up hope of a noramla life
kids, a house, and being a wife.
The image I see in the mirror is always distorted
I'm uglier than true, features contorted.
The rope that I cling to is just at its end
and what's broken can no longer mend.
But you said I was pretty
And thats enough to sustain me.