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am i any good at writing poetry? i don't tell anyone i write

Her days always feel the same 

She opens her eyes to the distant sound of chirping birds and morning winds 

Her room distinctly smells of roses from the front garden 

She glances around her room only to realize everything’s misplaced 

Miscellaneous papers 

Clothes jumbled together 

And everything she owns disarranged  

 

She takes a stride out of bed, but hesitates 

She's fatigued  

It’s day three without lavation 

She falters to the shower, almost ceases, and continues  

She perched 

The water runs down her half nude body 

She feels her loathed skin 

She whimpers in revulsion 

As she turns the shower off, she gets a glimpse of herself 

This couldn’t be her reflection 

 

She makes her family brunch with no intentions to consume 

Freshly whipped eggs and fried bacon 

Her appetite does nothing but increase 

Its day three without sustenance  

 

She constantly palters  

She is fine 

She is just weary 

She is not hungry