Self-hate has left

tally marks on her skin.

One, two, three, four

and a strike through!

Five. In clusters.

Here and there.

We tally our beer,

she tallied her pain.

Till one day she stopped.

She reached

the highest level

of self-loathing:

So much so it flipped.

A soul that reached

serenity by fighting

against self-hate.

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