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[Written by Rowen Leverentz]

[Image Credits: Joy Dakers]

We stand set,

Grown into a cast,

Outlined before we’re animated. 

Skin moulded like wax and used as such, 

She is assigned a space,

The shape of her figure makes her less,

Until she’s wanted for more,

Extra ribs fence her in,

Those curves that cut into bone, 

Are the softest form of restriction. 

How did a vessel become so still?

Limbs tied back with others’ expectations,

Constrained by construct,

Our essence is more than aesthetic,

Our bodies are a vehicle for existence,

A vice does not inhibit,

External hands are what hold you back.

Why are we tearing at the seams to be seen?

We’re puzzle pieces crafted from the same substance,

It’s these moulds that allow us all to fit,

They allow us to feel,

See through eyes,

Breathe through inhalation,

Glowing with the soft heat of running blood.

All systems are structured the same,

There’s beauty in formation,

A mould gives life.


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