A sheer screen of sweat lines my forehead
And trickles down my blushing cheeks
My body is being abused
At my own hand
As I zone out
Let it take me over.

My chest takes the worst beating
Sores abundant and a plethora of welts
Riddle my pasty skin.
If I wear a shirt with any cleavage at all
I make sure my scars are hidden
Like a well-kept secret.

My face is not far behind
The second line of combat.
My own nails, tweezers, anything
Will pick off any blemish they come across
And leaving the house without makeup on?
Forget it.

Who's to tell me I'm sick
Or even wrong?
You taught me what to do, after all
Mom, I learned this from you.
You thought you kept me sheltered from your
Habits and insecurities.
There was no way you could have.

And Daddy
Are you to say you're not to blame
For criticizing me for years?
For stressing me out in addition to
The stress I impose upon myself?

Do either of you know?
Yes, Mom, you do.
Do either of you care?
You tell me to cut it out
And then we laugh it off.

In your defense,
You do not understand the severity of my picking.
You only see the best of it.

Still, I cannot ask myself why I might do this
Childhood abuse
Perfectionism
Depression
Actions
And reactions
Of my parents.

I ask myself why not.
*...