I do this weird thing.
It’s uncomfortable.
My body doesn’t feel like it’s mine,
And my mind shoots blanks.

It happens when I put the men first.

I asked my friend about it —
She’s his wife now.
Makes him his protein shake
And begs him to do the dishes.
She says, “It’s not weird.”

I asked my mother,
While she packed a lunchbox,
Sweat down her back,
Her hair thinning.
She says she’s comfortable.

I asked my little sister —
She’s finally tall enough for the roller coaster.
She sent a Snapchat and waited.
She sent another one.
This time her blouse came down.
She says she loves her body.

Finally,
I looked in the mirror —
The same kind Sylvia Plath had.
I saw a worried girl.
Scared of liking him more than she should.
Imagining a ring on her hand.
Praying
That he doesn’t hurt her.