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She sits with her ankles crossed, sparkly shoes glittering on her pedicured, too-big feet.
Her brand new dark-washed jeans hug her curves just so, covering the flesh she despises.
Laced fingers, with polished nails shimmering in the light, hold up her tired chin.
The polish is chipped; chinks in her armor.
Her appearance is hardly disheveled.
Her heart is another matter.
Surrounded by friends, her heart is light.
She smiles, she laughs; she loses her mind.
The mirror reflects a girl she does not know, a woman she does not understand;
A soul of insecurity and pain behind a mask of makeup and couture.
She is alone, and she fears she always will be.
But she holds her head high; she tosses her shining hair.
Again, she faces a world that can only see her surface.
Again, she faces a world that only knows her name.