pebbles pressing against each rib
defiantly defining itself underneath the dress
she won’t remove because she thinks
she has wobbly bits
her food disappears from her plate
but they don’t go in her
they don’t sustain her
just the sewers
I can’t convince her of ‘enough’
when you’ve limited her concept of beauty
and she doesn’t see that was who she was
before you came along and said otherwise
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