bulimia recovery
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Her soul was hungry for change,
but her mind was made up to stay,
so her soul was left to starve,
her mind in a power-hungry craze.
Nothing distracts her mind from the numbers,
What if I told you that poets were overrated?
Someone who can only write when they’re sad,
Or in love or in bliss or in need of desperate rent money,
Is like a flower that only drinks from a tsunami.
