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dream.
i had a dream,
i lost all my friends,
all my insecurities,
turned to stare right back at me.
i was too pretty,
too ugly,
too loud,
too prude,
too much or never enough.
i could bleed myself and starve my body,
you’d still call me selfish for being so skinny.
all i could see were endless nights,
but the morning,
and as i woke up i denied that dream,
acted like nothing had happened,
like my life didn’t break down before my eyes.
i'm elisabeth d. (my writing name) and i'm a french teenage girl who finds comfort in poetry and writing. i have always used writing as a coping mechanism, and as a way to escape. last summer, i decided it was time for me to settle and think about what made me alive: writing is what came first.
this poem is one of my favorite pieces I've written, it's about insecurities and self-deception and i think anyone can relate to it, and i think it's a comforting thought to know that, no matter how much you hurt or relate to this poem, it gets better.