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The Cost of BeautyYou wandered down that midnight path
With eyes blacker than the air itself.
And for once you stopped and smelled the city fumes
And knew that there the darkness creeps
And tears off the lace from your morphed body
With crazy breath and a satisfied rumble.
It leaves you lying on the graveled pave
Pink dribbling from your wooden corpse,
For that's the cost of beauty, my love, for that's the cost of life.
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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