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the night i turned pretty.
I stand in front of a mirror
or do I?
is this really me that I see?
I ask these questions as I look
no, dissect is the right word
staring at my new face, it’s hard to believe
that this is me. Me in my room staring at myself
myself or someone who’s taken my eyes and placed them in this body
I want to cut it open.
to see if I'm still
under there
the real me
the one who’s been there from the start
the one who used to cry at night wishing for something
the one who secretly
never
I thought it would happen
until it did
the one who used to spend days practicing posture
to the point where now it comes naturally
the one who used to practice conversations, preparing for when she became universally loved
but finally happened, the night I prayed for came
I wanted this, so why am I back on my knees praying and pleading for it all to go away?
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