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Re-claimed
  My body is mine.
  it's not photoshopped
  with a skinny waistline.
  Glass held and dropped,
  I can now clearly see
  those people lacked plans
  to ever try and keep me.
  Touched by rough hands
  who didn't hear me say
  "no," with fear in my eyes.
  I remember the rainy day
  I swallowed my salty cries
  and nothing else, because
  the skinny girls are pretty,
  not depressed like I was.
  a body of fat and self-pity.
  In the hot sun, I cried
  long sleeves became
  summer attire, to hide
  wrists, scars, and shame
  those slowly faded away
  with help from a hotline.
  I am my past on display
  after pain so genuine
  it feels so good to say:
  My body is mine.

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