Every morning I check myself, and every night too, and sometimes after I ***, hiding in the shower stalls under sterile florescent lights
I can see the fat, how it hangs down my body and melts off my chest, a misshapen bag of curdled yogurt, yellow
If I pull my stomach in, ******* straining the lumpy muscle peeps through, deformed and grotesque
And yet, I cannot help but notice how my ribs show through my chest, stubbornly squeezing through the fat and forcing the flesh to my hips, refusing to comply.