I know I've gained weight
Not too too much.
Enough for me to notice
To pick apart and ****
Cry tears of failure,
I'm a body positive fraud.

I finally liked my body
Didn't hate all that I see
But now that that is gone,
I can only blame me.

Is this me or the "illness"?
That I don't know
I really want to fix this
Don't want to grow and grow
But therapy's taught me different
Can't listen to that voice
The one that screams and yells,
"THIS WAS ALL YOUR CHOICE
You're fat, lazy, inadequate,
what the hell have you done,
you'll grow and grow forever,
weight gain never done."

Part of me wants to listen
Part of me wants to fight
Part of me wants to give up
I'm tired of this smite.

My obsession with idealized perfection
is an infection
that's leading me in the wrong direction.

Perfect is non-existent.
But our culture still wants us to strive
Make money off our insecurities
Profits they want to drive

I'm going to practice acceptance
Less attention to this societal mess
I've more to do than look perfect.
Going to just do my best
to be a person of value
kind, caring and strong.
That is what's been best for me
Truly all along

The thing with begging to be loved
is that there’s more love in the begging
than there is in the aftermath.
There’s more to be loved in a pathetic way
than ever in something genuine.

But we still do it. Admit it,
you’re not the exception. We drag
our hands across our bodies
and pluck them into something acceptable;
there comes a point where it’s not love,
but violence. But acknowledgement —

and **** it if they don’t feel the same.
We are all crying the way children cry
for attention. If I scrape my knee
on the thick tarmac, will I still have to walk
home alone?

The birds sing for food early in the morning.
If I were a mother, I would never
make my child beg for *****. If I were a mother,
I would rip myself apart six months in
to see if I was cooking up something that looked
like me.

Soft light and fresh sense,
cooling air descends.
Lungs expand more gently at ease,
apprehension slides with death.
Breathe in to converse with greenery
as the day now dips and sets.
Though the clucks and clicks continue on,
colours no longer reflect to bounce
the burning image of a molten head.
Nevertheless we're not done yet,
tomorrow's bound to come along
with new problems until we're laid to rest.

Let's not be coy
I said,
wagging my finger
you are here to talk about me
I said repeatedly
to the mirror
so talk---
I said, playfully
or I will.