Ebony skin pulled sharply against her cheekbones,

Emerald eyes that used to sparkle

With the gleam of a cherished family heirloom

Have faded to a murky green.

Her fingers gently trace her jawline,

Down the base of her neck.

Her breasts, once supple and perky,

As though reporting for duty,

Now sag beneath the condemnation of gravity.

Fingers still trailing downward,

Strumming each rib to the song in her head.

A song of desire; of longing and lust;

Of envy and self loathing

That could not be silenced.

**If any aspiring artists wish to attempt a drawing to strengthen this poem, I would appreciate any efforts.  Please send any attempts my way.  I have an image in my head that needs to be put on paper.
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