brightfuture
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Nine year old me,
wrote how she hated to be,
enclapsed in a world,
full of misery.
Thirteen year old me,
hated to see
how the world,
percieved women to be.
What is beauty?Magazines, movies, TV will have you believeIt is a mold:Flawless skin, no blemishes, no poresBodies so thin you get hungry on their behalf
Squalls send seagulls flapping away,
billowing Nimbus bides his war
‘til darkness. Throaty caws
from the sinews of a power line
mark the claps of his raucous call.
Phoenix flies from the depths