skin

i pull off my heavy-weight sweatshirt

i weigh myself

ranking up to nearly 100 pounds

im satisfied for now

i love myself enough to be content with an almost perfect weight

which was never easy

but it still leaves a pit in my stomach as i step off.

 

i rifle through my drawers and closet

compiling an outfit im happy with

im completely comfortable

but

when i leave my house

its as if

ive never been

so

uncomfortable

in my life.

i assure myself that ill be comfortable again as soon as i get home

but i still

feel

uncomfortable.

 

even after i change into something new

i still

feel

uncomfortable.

 

ive

never

wanted

to

rip

my

skin

off

so

badly.

why is that?

This poem is about: 
Me

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