I fight with my hands
so they do not begin
to trace deep rivers on my stomach
that always lead to my hipbone basin

I flex my palms
and admire how my knuckles protrude
when I relax them again

My cheek bones can be felt
with a light pressure
and everlasting insecurity
but my chin never thins
quite the way I want

I pull my hair elastic forward
so that it sits right before
my perfect wrists

I admire my knees
as I sit in a tight skirt,
eyes trailing upward,
smile getting smaller,
thighs getting bigger

I tell myself I am better
and then I am alone