I hate the way I write.
The way I smile and laugh.
I hate my arms.
I hate my legs.

I think about tracing
My stretch marks with a razor
Because I'd rather have scars
Than stretch marks.

I think about scrubbing my back
Until it bleeds and my skin
Is down to its last layer.

I think about not eating
Until my stomach is
So empty all the air in it
Is what keeps me standing.

I think about the new me I could
Invent
With a more alluring look
And sure walk.

When I look in the mirror
All I see is fatfatfatfatfat.
Spilling over my jeans.
Resting on my thighs
When I sit.
Sitting underneath my chin
When I smile.

My upper arms are full of fat.
My shoulders as well.
I'm hunched over.

Crouching.

Embarrassed.