Every morning I check myself,
and every night too,
and sometimes after I pee,
hiding in the shower stalls
under sterile florescent lights

I can see the fat,
how it hangs down my body and
melts off my chest,
a misshapen bag of
curdled yogurt,
yellow

If I pull my stomach in,
sucking
straining
the lumpy muscle peeps through,
deformed and grotesque

And yet,
I cannot help but notice
how my ribs show through my chest,
stubbornly squeezing through the fat and
forcing the flesh to my hips,
refusing to comply.