In the crosswalk
With a male voice hollering
NICE SHORTS
at me. I looked down at those
Two pale things protruding from my form like ugly, overlarge monsters.
I tasted the fettucini alfredo and pizza I had let myself splurge on after a breakfast of coffee and fruit.
I tasted the tang of sweat forming in beads on my forehead and trickling down to my lips. Little rivers of effort on stationary machinery, my body moving but never really going anywhere. I tasted embarrassment and my own weakness.
Maybe I was better when I was sick
With wanting perfection. When I wanted what my favorite band sang to me through my speakers:
A perfect body; a perfect soul.
Maybe I was better when i was sick and the fettuccini swirling away from me
Down down down that liquid rabbit hole that consumed my secrets
Maybe I was better than these fat legs
Crammed into athletic shorts
Maybe I was better than just
Some joke