The parts of me that used to be mountains have been rounded down;
hunched, crouched and defensive.
My spine is a series of gargoyles;
those poor misguided guardians.

No matter how often i tell myself to stand up
to be strong

to be tall
I keep collapsing.

Every moment is a battle to keep these mountains above sea level
and the moment i stop,
everytime I try to catch my breathe;
they snap back.

My bones are elastics stretched too far
they only hurt the flesh holding them in

I am nothing but shapes I was not born to make


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