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my poetry
April 27, 2023
i pick and pick and pick
hoping to manufacture the perfection i'm so lacking
i pick until tan turns to crimson and i pick still afterwards
i arrange them in a way that makes me feel somewhat
competent in my own skin
it never works
they always feel wrong
the skin between them so incorrectly made
that i can't stand to feel them
i cover them with tape to avoid feeling the world
i never feel anything anymore
i pick and pick and slowly pick myself away
© Anonymous
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this piece is about my skin