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Image for the poem deemed perfect

deemed perfect

you said that it would be mutilating my body, that god would be upset. that his wrath would consume me for destroying his creation that was already deemed "perfect" and didn't need to be fixed.

but where was god's wrath when i was eight-years-old and a creation of his deemed "perfect" held me down and mutilated my innocence more than surgical tools ever could?

you said that this is not who i am, that what happened to me made me what i am but these breasts i hate i didn't have when i was eight.

i hate riding in vehicles with no windows and locked doors. i hate that forests no longer seem magical and that monsters don't hide underneath my bed but in it. but this, who i am was not born from this.

where was god's wrath when his "perfect" creation begged for death? when his "perfect" creation tied a noose around their neck? when their "perfect" body bled?

you shed tears and cry that i am ruining something beautiful. tell me that to be comfortable in my own body would be a sin.

but i was eight-years-old when god's image, a creation deemed "perfect", destroyed my beautiful and the only tears that have been shed since are my own.
Written by withernrise
Published
Author's Note
I purposely don't capitalize in a lot of my poems.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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