Body Image

by Krystal Lambert 

 

Some nights

I can’t sleep

Mostly because

I can’t eat

And if I do

I’ll have to think

About my body

About its link to my worth

It’s too much

I’m too full

I’m so hungry

I’m too big

But impossibly small

I’m empty and breaking

But tomorrow I’ll burn

More calories

Or just not think about it

Until it’s all I can think of

And then

And then

On and on and on

I will be

In this body

Forever

In this war with self

And sex

And society

I’m sick.

We’re all sick.

I’m so fucking sick of it.

Burn it down, man.

This façade of filth

They call it beauty

I call it a birdcage for a peacock

Forcing poetry into math

Spitting in the face of The Creator.

I secretly

Love these stretch marks

I die

For these generous hips

Coming home

Has become the warmth of my own frame

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