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  • I care. I care desperately,
    tearing urgently toward approval for the face I wear that day.
    Deep silence.
    Everyone cares;
    life's a stage for posturing, peacocks all.
    Intelligent life piped into Aeropostale outfits,
    the mind was bound to be abandoned.
    Conversation is gossip, others
    remarked upon,
    whispered glances stolen in lockerside hall.
    “That’s not me,” we’d say, but in the dark of the night, when
    friends are talking to lovers and you sit alone, you wonder, and
    you care an awful lot then.
    Everything pasted on in front of a mirror,
    steel foundation and mascara chains reinforce my
    corset of porcelain flesh and mask of blushed bone,
    ephemeral acceptance.

    By Abigail Levy, Grade 10, The Sharon Academy, Vermont
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