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Kelsey Banerjee Jul 2020
she handles memories like a crime scene,
each shared photograph shows
a clue -
oil stains on armchairs, misplaced magazines
she’d mistake a sob of despair
for laughter,
love for pity.
every remembrance she mars with red ink,
as if to tell her side of a story
that never existed.
Grace Mar 2020
Why
Why is it
That when I see
any
other
girl
I think, “oh! She’s so pretty!”

Why is it
I describe
Other people’s eyes
As
oceans
forests
streams
But mine are just ***** dishwater?

Why is it
I must change my hair
Damage it
Color it
In order for it to make me happy?

Why is it
That I am
my own
worst
critic?
I believe everyone is beautiful, why can’t I believe it about myself?
Riz Mack Jan 2020
I use my prescription note
as a bookmark
a milligram per page
a page for every breath

the breath of wolves
of swollen air
and dreams too real

it's not as if
I really know the difference

I think I like it like that
LC Dec 2019
the inner voice whispers,
"tell them you're struggling."
my vocal cords are warmed up,
ready to give life to the words.
but the hand over my mouth
is an impermeable barrier
set by the critical voice
that is fueled by fear.
Kylee Dec 2019
I never noticed my

gut jiggle
thighs touch

knobby elbows sticking out

flat chest
wide nose

dry skin and crooked toes

Until society told me

no,

no,

No.

-body image
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