The fact that I haven’t up and left
This life with violence
Is a miracle in itself, with
All the loneliness and
Pressure to succeed, that, need to be
Free, but missing connection
And longing for love while feeling
So shunned by society.
I foolishly look back on old flames
As if their game’s not been played
As if my fat, disgusting form would
Be acceptable, much less
Desirable. Even my mother
Doesn’t think I could be loved.