I sat on a curb in a parking lot,
surrounded by friends,
eating cheap Thai takeout.
I looked and saw my legs
expand against the rough concrete.
"I have fat thighs" I say.
"so?" he says.
"all girls do"
But he is not right
I have seen girls with slim,
willowy thighs that do not even touch.
There are girls with smooth hard thighs
that do not jiggle or tremble
thighs that have lines and shape.
Backstage one night, in a dress
that made my breathing come short,
I complained about its tightness,
blamed it on myself.
She laughed and said
"god, I would **** to be as skinny as you"
Truthfully,
I do not know what I look like
I know an ever-changing image
trapped in cold glass
and soft pale pieces
that conform to my touch
but I have never seen myself,
not really,
and I never will.
So I won't ever know,
no, not really,
how I appear to others.
"you're too pretty for that"
Am I too pretty for the
sticky lips and swollen eyes?
"how do you stay so thin?"
I'm on a great new diet
it's called 'I hate myself'
"I wish I looked like you!"
but god, do you know how it feels?
how each second is self-conscious
--more; it's self hatred
how sustenance is a numbers game
how your friends laugh
when you order a salad
("oh my god, really? again?")
and how it cuts right to the very center
of what makes you human and whole.
You wish you looked like me?
I wish I knew what I looked like.