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Pick, Pick, Pick
I wish I could cover up all the mirrors
Everywhere
So I wouldn’t have to look at myself
Because the same always happens
Fix the hair
Fix the makeup
Lean in closer
See a pimple or a blackhead
Zone out.
An hour goes by and I tear myself away
And look at the damage I have caused
Everywhere blotchy red
My back is bleeding
So I put on concealer and foundation
And more concealer and I cover my back
And I slink out.
On the days my face is clear I am proud
Take pictures
Look in the mirror and admire myself
But a part of me is disappointed
Disappointed that I don’t get to pick
Pick
Pick
Go to that place out of my body
Focused yet unfocused
Yelling at myself for destroying my body
While my fingers go on by themselves.
One day my hair slipped aside
And my friend saw the scabs all over my back
The huge one where I picked at one spot for hours
And she gasped
At the marks shaped like nails
My nails
And I was ashamed
But I can’t
Just.
STOP.
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