You say I am obsessed with myself,
And the way I look.
Point out how I stare at the mirror and focus on every nook
And every cranny of my body.
But I am not obsessed, I just fear I’m going mad
From a terrifying disorder who knows how long I’ve had.
I‘m merely mapping out this body I see through this drunk-like haze.
Searching for a sign to tell me “this is you”
To tell me “this is right” and that there’s no mistake.
Pinching myself until I feel something in this dreamlike state.
It’s like a never ending nightmare, from which I
Cannot
Wake.
Staring at the mirror at this body
Which apparently is mine.
No I am not obsessed,
I just think I’m going mad,
From a terrifying disorder who knows how long I’ve had.