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mannequins (IV)

but in the moment when my

sight lingers to the glass doors

behind them,

i see nothing but disgust.


in my double chin,

in my unthreaded eyebrows,

in my fat fingers.

in the sway of my heavy hips and

in the plumpness of my shapeless breasts.


because at the end of the day

we’re all trained to be mannequins,

with sheer pride in their air.

to wait for the moment when

someone comes by and stops

and takes a minute to stare.


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