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#strechmarks
Then : Stigmas shredding this rough frame Strips of blood boiling, wanting to explode I feel their anger I hear their shrieks, their war cries I don't listen. These monsters and me are at war.                                                                                                               Now :                                                                    Soft pink caressing this canvas                                                                                                     Calm rivers                                                                              nurturing, bring it to life                                                                                             I feel their peace                                                              I hear their hummings, their odes                                                                                            I sing with them                                                                              my stretch marks and me                                                                                                            are one.
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Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 1:45 PM UTC
Time changes us
Then : Stigmas shredding this rough frame Strips of blood boiling, wanting to explode I feel their anger I hear their shrieks, their war cries I don't listen. These monsters and me are at war.                                                                                                               Now :                                                                    Soft pink caressing this canvas                                                                                                     Calm rivers                                                                              nurturing, bring it to life                                                                                             I feel their peace                                                              I hear their hummings, their odes                                                                                            I sing with them                                                                              my stretch marks and me                                                                                                            are one.
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18
There are rivers everywhere many are just out of sight.     The ground is told to be ashamed     for the home it gives these rivers.           Because of that           the ground tries to hide it’s rivers.               The ground covers its imperfections               with anything it can.           It covers these rivers not because they aren’t beautiful           but because they have ravaged clean canvas.                         If you look closely at the soil                         you will see hundreds of these little streams.                               They are deep in some places                               but shallow in others.                                    Their color can be that of blood                                    or the color of scars not quite healed.                                            These rivers are not just at the surface                                            for they come from the depths of the soil.                                                    Taking years to fully carve their place                                                    and take a lasting toll on the ground.                                             I am my own piece of ground                                             with rivers flowing freely.                                     They cover my body                                     engrained in so many parts of me.                          These rivers show me where I’ve been                          and where I will go.                 My rivers have faded                 from scarlet to peach.          My rivers are permanent          and I struggle to find their beauty. My rivers are seen as ugly so I try to hide them.          My rivers are not talked about          because I am told they are shameful.                  My rivers stretch across my body                  and carve at its banks daily.                           I have tried to dam the waters from flowing                           but new paths just keeping appearing.                                    Yet, through it all I have learned from my rivers                                     that beauty comes in all forms. My rivers are beauty in its purest form.
0
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
Rivers
There are rivers everywhere many are just out of sight.     The ground is told to be ashamed     for the home it gives these rivers.           Because of that           the ground tries to hide it’s rivers.               The ground covers its imperfections               with anything it can.           It covers these rivers not because they aren’t beautiful           but because they have ravaged clean canvas.                         If you look closely at the soil                         you will see hundreds of these little streams.                               They are deep in some places                               but shallow in others.                                    Their color can be that of blood                                    or the color of scars not quite healed.                                            These rivers are not just at the surface                                            for they come from the depths of the soil.                                                    Taking years to fully carve their place                                                    and take a lasting toll on the ground.                                             I am my own piece of ground                                             with rivers flowing freely.                                     They cover my body                                     engrained in so many parts of me.                          These rivers show me where I’ve been                          and where I will go.                 My rivers have faded                 from scarlet to peach.          My rivers are permanent          and I struggle to find their beauty. My rivers are seen as ugly so I try to hide them.          My rivers are not talked about          because I am told they are shameful.                  My rivers stretch across my body                  and carve at its banks daily.                           I have tried to dam the waters from flowing                           but new paths just keeping appearing.                                    Yet, through it all I have learned from my rivers                                     that beauty comes in all forms. My rivers are beauty in its purest form.
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42
Beauty, why do you evade her? Why will you not let her grasp you? She searches for you daily. Meals become foreign during her quest. Why will you not let her grasp you? She searches the mirror but only sees a mistake. Meals become foreign during her quest. The map on her body is not a treasure map to her. She searches the mirror but only sees a mistake. Numbers are more than a math problem to her. The map on her body is not a treasure map to her. Beauty, why must you hide from her? Numbers are more than a math problem to her. Her best friend is the floor of her shower. Beauty, why must you hide from her? Why will you not show her you were always there? Her best friend is the floor of her shower. The water washes all the broken parts away. Why will you not show her you were always there? She doesn’t need water to fix what’s never been broken.
0
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
Numbers Don't Define Beauty
Strækmærker kravler hen over hendes nøgne krop som tigerstriber Slynger sig vildt om hendes bryst, hendes mave, hendes lår, og alle de andre dele af hendes krop som *** hader
0
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
Mærker