Beauty has corrupted my kindness.
Mirrors make militance.
Cosmetics cause crisis.
Insecurity is inevitable.
I carry my frustration onto my surroundings.
I loathe mirrors.
I execrate clothes.
Though I can’t fault them for my insecurity,
blame is always easier upon the inconsequential.
Anger doesn’t solve the resurging matter,
but it’s easier than addressing my fears of getting fatter.
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