because every night before you crawl into your bed
feeling empty and dead
you pull out this metal box
only to let numbers define you

but what you didn't know is that
your weight— or what others perceive you to be— what others called you— doesn't define you. it never did

because what you didn't know, is that
those that hurt you
don't love themselves in the middle of the night, too,
and they use you, to cope— to heal

but what they didn't know is that
the methods they use on others
won't unbreak them, too