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One More Time
The mirror is sneering
again.
She's screaming in her head
again.
The vomit's burning in her throat
again.
Her ribs are showing
again.
But she's still not content.
She's still whimpering in the corner,
berated by the constant stream of hissed threats in her mind.
She's slamming her head into the wall
again.
People are staring
again.
She's huddled over the toilet
again.
Her legs are too weak to hold her
again.
Maybe if she screams back,
the voice in her head will vanish.
Maybe this will all fly away.
She's not satisfied with her reflection
again.
Family dinners are scorned
again.
She's wondering if she'll ever be thin
again.
Her eyes are filled with tattered blood-vessels
again.
People ask her if she's lost weight,
and she feels good for a moment,
thinking it was all worth it, and she finally looks fabulous.
But then she feels like hiding
again.
She feels ugly, worthless, empty
again.
And she feels like dying
again.
But this doesn't have to be,
for
there
is
hope
for
her
again.
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"It is not the length of life but the depth of life"- Ralph Waldo Emerson