A Person of My Kind
I have a new perfume, It’s called: Acid from my Stomach
It doesn’t smell very good, but I put it on anyway
Sometimes, once in a while in just leave the bottle in the drawer
Because I don’t need to please anyone, or please myself
This concentrated liquid made a new person out of me
Someone i never though i would be
It, a disease
I only wish that I could drop the bottle on the floor and find it in a thousand pieces
Then, it would be gone forever, the smell would eventually fade away
I never though I’d became obsessed with one of the essential element of life
Control is no more in my two hands, none sense took care of it
My finger, the most useful tool in a person of my kind’s life is controlled by gilt
Gilt, a feeling, a leader, an influence increased by temptation
Shame is an enemy for a person of my kind
I swallow my words
For the fear of being categorized
A category unapproved by the society
A walking disease, is what I am
Maybe they’re right, maybe it’s a big deal after all
Believe, trust, no! It is not possible for a person of my kind
A person of my kind, a bulimic
Copyright © Andréanne Boulanger | Year Posted 2006
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