On a cold November morning
She awakens
Her eyes
Sunken and unaware
Of the beauty
That lies ahead
All she sees
Are the fears
The weights,
Dragging
Pulling
Gnawing away
At her frail, fragile bones
She is lost
She is broken
She is gone
Sitting
In a ***** room
Picking up a pen
And trying
Desperate and futile
To take back
What she believes has died
She stops
The naked scars taunting
Watching from her forearms
She grins
In that eternal moment
She is perfection
Her scars smudge
Her flesh smooth
Those vicious weights
Nowhere to be found
She is free
Untouchable
She is the words
That she has written down
She is the future
Which she had feared
She is the reality
Which she can believe in