Experiences of a Nonbinary poet: Stomachache

All my hoodies are in the wash My jeans are yet to be clean I have nothing to shield my body from my brain So I think and think and overthink again So much so that I give myself a stomachache And my my mind begins to crumble and fray Who is I? What is me? Am I me? As fragments fall into the abysmal void I look into the fractured mirror My enemy My friend My torment and torture My silver abyss Can you drown in a reflection? My stomach grumbles When did I last feed the prison everyone else calls a body? I can't remember. It's been long enough for a stomachache to result From my existential insult Maybe I'll go eat I can hold on It'll only take so long Until what I am is really me