i wanna starve myself until my bones snap in half.
doctor’s appointments always drive me crazy
the absolute humiliation and
normal snide comments about my height.
i am officially five foot now,
though i have thought before that i was five foot one.
who cares anyway?
i am never satisfied with my weight  
and i’m not even remotely heavy,
so what’s wrong with me?
every time i step on a scale, some part of me flinches
the wires ******* into my brain, malfunction.
i hate revisiting my wounds,
but every single **** time i enter in a doctor’s office
the smell of sick children and rubbing alcohol fills my nose
and there’s always someone crying.
internally and externally.
each time i step onto that scale, my throat stiffens up
and my mouth becomes dry.
i look around at my surroundings,
panic growing,
back turned to the daunting scale
and my feet dig into my crusty old shoes.
see, my mom said that my legs were too close together
and i can’t believe she surrenders to toxic thigh gap culture.
that made my insides do a backflip
and allowed my mind to take a relapsing staycation,
diving back into the swampy water that lies in surprisingly deep puddles around me.
i haven’t been able to shake that remark
and that makes me upset,
but how am i supposed to try to feel better about myself when my literal mom is feeding me false information blurted out by fake nutritionists of victoria’s secret models?
tell me how.
all the nurses glare at me like i’m chopped liver trapped in a (disgusting) human body.
you think i don’t abhor myself already?
doctor’s offices make my anxiety skyrocket so high, it goes to another dimension
and i am trapped in some kind of strange limbo
that makes me feel like vomiting.
shots and bathrooms and hallways with threatening doors
inside a building where the scale becomes my only concern,
so much that i can’t eat before i get my annual checkup.
the doctor i go to has a daughter with an eating disorder who went to the hospital for it
had the audacity of saying her daughter has barely any meat on her bones.
her own mother!
she reinforces that bad behavior,
i know for certain she does.
why must i worry for weeks upon end
about my healthy weight
because a scale tells me i’m not good enough,
i’m not skinny enough,
i’m not toned enough.
***** doctor’s appointments
and doctors with superiority complexes.
you can all cry on a scale
in a room that smells like bleach.