In a Year

Wed, 01/11/2017 - 13:42 -- sarahac

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

And bend

And 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

Now.

This poem is about: 
Me

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