If I Were A Teenage Girl

What’s the shape of love?
is it voluptuous?
or thin hipped?
does it have a thigh gap?

I only know the shape of hatred

it’s the rise of scars on my arm and legs
it’s a handful of pills
or my lips pursed, kissing at the opening of a bottle

it’s every day
remarkably
the same
as yesterday

but somehow I find the courage
to go outside
and greet the world

– A. Ramirez

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