over time i’ve grown to hate the mirror
because i stand there pulling my skin back
trying to help my skeleton stick out
and i’ll stare until i hate what i see

sometimes i miss the feeling of a constantly empty stomach
where i could feel light on my feet and compress more easily into an invisible shell of insecurity

they still watch me whenever i eat
to make sure im not just rearranging my plate at the dinner table
and they refuse to accept the excuses to why I’m not hungry

nothing tastes good anymore
because i can only feel it adding to my stomach or my thighs
nothing tastes as good as skinny feels

on the billboards and the tv i see nobody that looks like me
and I’m sick of a number determining my worth
but that’s the price of being a woman

whether it’s being strangled with a measuring tape or told to lose ten pounds
then being told that you are too skinny to bear children
why does it always define me?

at least at the end of the day
i can trace my collar bones
and remember when i was thin enough to be called beautiful
and before i learned how much my body would determine my life