Pain is Beauty: Why Am I Not Beautiful Yet?

September 25, 2017
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Grains of rice in a row -

half now, half later -

a few carbs

my savior

from the black spots growing in my vision.

Don't feed me your words of wisdom.

I'd rather wither,

watch my bones protrude;


Tired eyes,

thighs like crescent moons; wane,

meals; the bane

of the this sad existence.


This is what you made me.

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