In the hush of dusk, where shadows creep,
A figure stands, in silence, deep,
Skinny limbs, like whispers frail,
Caught in the grip of an endless veil.

A soul adrift in a sea of doubt,
Longing for curves, yearning to sprout,
But the mirror reflects a form so thin,
Where insecurities begin to spin.

Each glance becomes a battle fought,
Against the whispers that can't be caught,
Skin stretched tight, bones on display,
In the search for beauty, a...