Last night I read about a woman who purged herself to death.
We shared the same birthday,
the same habits.
Sometimes I wake up in disgust with these bones.
Other times, in narcissistic bliss with these bones.
Then there are those perpetual evenings,
when I whisper threats disguised as mantras to these bones
I want my obituary to say
that I loved this delicate framework of calcium & collagen.
When I'm 91 and the only thing I've expulsed myself of
is the need to perfect these bones.