body dysmorphia
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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 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
