My Porcelain Throne

I kneel down before the porcelain throne,

Seeking the body shape you think I should own.

I’m all alone.

Counting calories, watching my weight,

Trying to lose the figure you hate.

Slam my fist in the mirror

Because I can’t find “You’re perfect.”

How much more can I lose? Will it ever be worth it?

See the blood on my hand, something new is awoken.

It’s the same blood I had back before I was broken.

My reflection falls down, but my eyes still last

They hold the ghost of a happier me in my past.

A shard of glass is the pick

To the lock

On the chains

That you’ve bound me in.

Light the wick,

Start the clock,

Fight the pains

This time I will win.

Now I’m free.

And I’m not perfect.

I’m just me.

But I’m beautiful.

This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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