There are enough atoms in the human body
to make up a galaxy of stars.
You are a walking galaxy
with stardust swimming in your veins
and beating in your heart.
Constellations rest behind each
of your delicate eyelids
and shooting stars
dance through your soul.
How can you look at yourself
and say you are not beautiful
when you are made of the very things
that you spend your nights marveling at?
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