this body of mine.

i stand facing away from the mirror,

toes perpendicular to my reflection.

my body contorts and twists

bends and curls,

i expand and contract

the squish of my stomach,

i lean forward and back,

holding my breath and letting it go.

how could I have missed it?

this body of mine

the word rings in my head

fat

a word once foreign

but now painfully familiar,

echoing endlessly when i catch sight

of the rolls that pile when i slouch,

the mass that protrudes when I sit

overflowing from jean waistband.

i measure the distance, count the inches,

i pinch the skin, feel its folds.

how could I have ever loved

this body of mine?

i see magazine covers through tear-filled eyes,

crease-free stomachs and parted thighs

i don’t see myself in the mirror,

only the number on the scale

i look at food like it’s the enemy,

like a cancer I can’t be free from,

the reason for

this body of mine.

how i long for blissful ignorance,

from the weight of the world,

from the weight of my body

i don’t remember it being perfect,

just that i once thought it was

when i was young and unafraid.

how i wish to forget

this body of mine.