body dysmorphia

Learn more about other poetry terms

As I stand before the mirror, I stare aimlessly at myself.  I stare at the way my skin molds into the unique shape of my bones, and folds around the tips of my eye lids. 
The value of my soul determined by numbers the circumfrence of my thighs the space between my eyes
I hate my fat self. But I hate my thin self even more Because I just don't see it.
I measured each spoonful of Mexican cheese and sprinkled it, like a surgeon, over a bubbling omelette Next was the avocado, sliced in smooth crescents of green because that's the good kind of fat,
the best part of the norovirus is that while it robs you of your breath, leaves you sweat-shaking with hot chills in bed it also steals your appetite finally, to be empty by no willpower of my own
to You--   if You look out onto that manhattan skyline and You imagined that You You were God, gliding
to You--   if You look out onto that manhattan skyline and You imagined that You You were God, gliding
there’s something creeping, creeping into my head. a thought, not a voice. but it still pricked deep, making me flinch with the first few words.
Was he really that desperate?The words pound through my mind.Was he really that desperate?My legs threaten to give in beneath me. Was he really that desperate?
According to society, I have never been extraordinary. I do not fit today’s standards of pretty. I am invisible.
I may sleep for the Weak I feel so deep in my Guts and those damn bones Not cured but bad I’m not in sickness but I Do think about it
Subscribe to body dysmorphia