I'm frivolous, But still i commence to write, In my subconcious mystery, is a poem I must recite. I feel heated, I dwell above a flame, And as my lips sting, Nose burns, Eyes turn, shall I listen to myself, fighting myself of rage, Through the pages of where perfection lies, You wonder how to become a super model's size, Some say that pictures always tell lies, But the eyes never deceive what can be seen in real life, Sheilds, Can't defend the battle of the shadow of rage, And as moments pass, And darkness plays, shall I listen to myself, fighting myself of rage, Through the eyes of where the mirror resides, They don't see beauty, but where ugliness, In a world full of rights, They seem to think they're doing wrong, Oblivious to the fact that their convictions aren't exact, So they press on, Fighting what we know is right, Holding on to what they know is wrong, It's funny how it happens like that sometimes, But like I said, Some say that pictures always tell lies.
Reason for writing:
I wanted to create a poe which could flow when you read it. As I progrssed further in the poem, I realised I was talking about eating disorders. When I keep referring to 'fighting rage', I am talking about someone with a eating disorder fighting themself. I think that I done the subject justice!
Birth sign: Aquarius
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