Depression is a GO.
Body image issues,
specifically.
Meteoric,
near impact
self esteem.
I know the individual
reality that my ***
is after all, but mine to claim.
I know, also,
invisibility, for me, is pain.
While deified images
dance all night on high,
I'm lounging in pajama
bottoms, binging on HULU,
cartoons I've seen at least
a thousand times before,
binging on dark caffeine.
I squat before the coffee table
with a plate of finely shredded cheese,
stacked, hot tortillas on another plate,
and I rip pieces from the round to squeeze
together cheese so I may ably place
my excess of portions on the bed
of my eagerly awaiting, gaping mouth.