They speak again
tongues like measuring tapes,
wrapping around curves
they were never invited to touch

Don’t be too full,
or you’ll become the joke
Don’t be too hollow,
or they’ll pity you in silence

Don’t shine too bright,
you’ll be named too cheap
Be simple
but never dull enough to vanish

Their words stain
like wine on white silk,
like smoke that settles
where breath should be

And I?
I face the mirror
but see a stranger,
built from fragments of their judgment,
stitched with doubt,
stitched with shame

I begin to loathe this skin,
mourn the way it bends,
curse the way it stands out
as if I am an error,
written in flesh,
waiting
to be erased