I wish to paint my body with the colours I lack, I point out each one of my flaws, and sideline my every perfection, as if I'm always searching for a reason to degrade myself. I'm all in when it comes to lecture about self-love, but seldom do I practice it. I can go on and on, writing about self-acceptance, only for it to be trapped forever, amongst my ceaseless self-loathing. I never thought that one day, living in my own body would feel like a task to me. how can I ever expect to top your priority list, when I always come last on mine?
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