You can't help but wonder if there's a different path
Hoping this is one present that remains in the past
Holding the breath that you still can't catch
Feeling your lungs simultaneously burst and collapse
As this constant itch that can't be scratched
Causes you to choke and gasp
Don't breathe, don't speak, don't let them see
They can't know what it's like to be afraid of your own body
They can't understand the reason you hate labels
Because lately, that's all you see when you look at your plate on the table
And they've started to resemble those on the orange bottles that keep you stable
Because otherwise, you'd be unable to feel anything but defeat
A constant reminder that when you eat
You're not consuming, you're being consumed
Eaten from the inside out
Seasoned with your shame and doubt
Telling yourself you can do without that one last bite
Losing in the endless fight
Of trying not to feel so empty
While trying to maintain a life deemed full but not filling
Reminded that when you drink, you must be careful not to overflow
Or you'll become dead weight in the undertow
Drowning as you slowly float downstream
So you must be careful of what exits and enters your lips
Because the pull of gravity on your hips seems to be the most important number to measure these days
And not time, like suggested by the prospect of an hourglass figure
Which we've let slip through our fingers
While we waste away the seconds watching our waists shrink and confuse them for getting bigger
Because all eyes are stuck staring at our mirrors
I've been told not to judge by the cover, but we're all walking books with stories to tell
And I'm tired of being looked at like a recipe enclosed in a cook book shell
Like I only come with instructions for a natural disaster
Sunlight rotted into rain and no longer pure enough for consumption
Though I never thought I would ruin anyone's parade by simply existing in a way that wasn't up to standard
And I never expected to be measured against an inconsistent opinion viewed as a prize
I thought storm clouds were meant to be compared to eyes
Not thunder to thighs
I thought the only thing that mattered in size
Was your heart
But even that holds no weight unless it can be served up medium rare
And measured ounce by ounce into an open, empty palm in the shape of a man's greed
And no matter how much I plead
I can't seem to uproot the seed
That tells us we must sit and bleed
Until we've lost enough to feed
Into the desires of those who decided to define perfection
And though I've been told to save the scales for the food
I am just a piece of meat
At the mercy of the well-worn hands of a butchering society
Pounded tender to a man's taste
And thrust for judgement onto a plate
To be measured and ignored and told "we didn't want our meal fatter
Put something that looks a bit more appetizing on the platter"
But instead of breaking into bottles, I shatter
Collapsing into a silence surrounded by laughter
Sitting and marinating in my own thoughts
Feeling guilted into asking for seconds you're expected to forgo
Even though you can feel your stomach grow
Empty like the calories you try to count with just one hand
Expected to melt at the slightest touch of a handshake like the soft serve you've been denying yourself
Because even though you're someone's missing puzzle piece,
God forbid you find yourself unable to fit
And god forbid you find that place ends up being your own skin
Walking into your closet shouldn't give you anxiety
And being a so-called man shouldn't give you authority
And going without eating shouldn't comfort you like sobriety
And being a woman shouldn't make you feel like property
But fuck it
I am a piece of meat, right?
At least, that's what I've been told to think
And until now it's how I've been told to eat
And I couldn't sleep for fear of waking up to a world unchanged
A world where I constantly have to rearrange
In which I'd sit chained to a dictionary filled with nothing but definitions for perfection
But I've found liberation knowing I can't be handcuffed to a concept
If ignorance is bliss, then take this knowledge out of context
Perfection is a myth, but beauty is reality
And we all exist beautifully in our fragile mortality
Imperfection shouldn't lead to emotional brutality
So we as a society should rethink our mentality toward women and their bodies
Because time is of the essence
Clocks are just as good as hourglasses if there is no time like the present
You think perfect means pounded, molded, shaped, folded, skinned, but barely prepared in the fire?
Would you really rather suffocate than stand up and be a fighter? Because I prefer my meat tough, not tender
Perfection is a word I can't define, though beauty is a contender
Simply this: everyone is beautiful when we stop feeling like pretenders
So throw away the scale, don't mind the numbers on the dress
They're as temporary as the title of this poem, idle threats
Double zero or triple x
Love yourself with no regrets
And in the liberation, like me you will find solace
Just repeat after me: i am flawless