i live through photographs of perfect bodies and walked among worshipers of flesh, the ones who looked at curves and nooks before being drawn to a mindset.
i could not help but put down my own body because i did not follow the criteria for the checklist their eyes scanned the room for.  there was not really an area of me i could be proud of, except the person i am on the inside. i wanted to cocoon sheets around my body and feel eyes drawn to what i'm made of.  
i wanted someone to touch the slopes of my mind, kiss the laughter echoing within me, eyes fixated on the glimmer within, to constantly think about the way i am instead of the way i look.
sadly i knew no participants in life were like this, so i stared into space night and day thinking about the way i needed to drink another water bottle, tallying the ones i had already finished.
if i would be fine if i had sugar twice in one day,
if everything was going to build up in me and i'd become even more undesirable to they eye, if all the fat would go to the wrong places, and never fill me up to look like a woman in the eyes of mankind. being desired was the new admiration. i craved recognition for the person i was, but physicality was the only concern with the crowd, men receiving a social trophy for having the woman most lusted after.