Expiration Date (Flexed and Forgotten)

She posted it bold,

like the past had no end,

a thirst trap for ghosts

and a filter for pretend.

Back when she thought

a side pose could heal,

before truth had a shape

and the bloat got real.

No date on her chest —

no sign of the loss.

Just flexin’ her ribs

like they paid her the cost.

That mirror’s a liar,

but it ain’t the worst —

she cropped out the part

where her choices hurt.

Still fishing for “likes”

with a vintage disguise,

while her real reflection

just cries behind eyes.

You ain’t that girl now —

you’ve traded your soul

for a man, a distraction,

and zero control.

You deleted your past

but you post like you’re proud —

like your body’s a protest

of being allowed.

It’s comical, tragic —

like high school still calls.

But your silence is louder

than bathroom stall walls.

A bikini can’t mask

what a breakdown reveals —

You’ve got curves full of secrets

and skin that won’t heal.

So go on, post the “before.”

Pretend you’re still her.

But your trauma’s still visible —

and no filter can blur.