In a Year
At the start,
She was kind, beautiful, free.
She was individual, unique
Better than she’d ever been.
Then, near the middle,
And more towards the end
Her self image began to bend
She was no longer kind,
She was quiet, scared to speak
Imprisoned by the thoughts in her mind
Telling her she had to be perfect
Telling her she was no longer good
Telling her that all these worries would, one day, be worth it
Her efforts were stupid, useless, lost of meaning
She looked at her body and hated it
She was self-conscious then
And she still is now,
But at least,
She’s aware that she’s broken
At least she’s aware that her mind is playing her
I am she and this is me
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