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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