I look at you with disgust. Your hideous. Your look makes me sick. Your gut sticks out. Your face is deformed. Your shoulders are covered with scars. Your thighs match them. Your clothes barely fit.
“Babe” calls out from behind, as it is my boyfriend, and I turn around.
“Babe, why are you looking in the mirror?” He doesn’t know.
“It’s dinner time.” The thought of eating worsens my appetite. The thought makes me feel more obese. The thought of looking worse. The thought of losing you for being fat.
As I sit in front of my plate, I can’t eat—for myself, for my boyfriend, for my friends, for the people who said I am fat, for my family that insults how I look. For being some creature that will never fit because I am something,but I don’t know what.
So I sit in front of a mirror, looking at the thing-the most hideous thing I have ever seen.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 1:26 PM UTC
I look at you with disgust. Your hideous. Your look makes me sick. Your gut sticks out. Your face is deformed. Your shoulders are covered with scars. Your thighs match them. Your clothes barely fit.
“Babe” calls out from behind, as it is my boyfriend, and I turn around.
“Babe, why are you looking in the mirror?” He doesn’t know.
“It’s dinner time.” The thought of eating worsens my appetite. The thought makes me feel more obese. The thought of looking worse. The thought of losing you for being fat.
As I sit in front of my plate, I can’t eat—for myself, for my boyfriend, for my friends, for the people who said I am fat, for my family that insults how I look. For being some creature that will never fit because I am something,but I don’t know what.
So I sit in front of a mirror, looking at the thing-the most hideous thing I have ever seen.
