Spoonfed and choking

Our bodies are never what we want them to be
Spoonfed and choking on impossible ideals
We lose our grasp on what real should look like
I stopped seeing
Stopped being shown
Stopped showing
Just as my breasts began to grow


Changing clothes in front of each other
Became a magic trick
Houdini trying not to show an inch of skin
I can take off
Put on
Underwear
Without ever unbuttoning my pants
Shedding like a snake to reveal a new outfit
Rawness and vulnerability always hidden


I saw the stomach of my bodily ideal
Briefly
As she absentmindedly scratched
Stretch-marks decorate her
Doodled there by the two babies she carried
I felt better about myself
Only for a moment


I stand in front of mirrors
Partially dressed or not at all
A challenge to look as if my eyes were not my own
To see what someone else
Someone who lives outside my pale, bruised body
Might see
To imagine what they might say
But I inevitably return
The cacophony of criticism loud
(Thunder thighs)
(Curled lip)
(Fat)
(Fat)
(Fat)
(You have such a pretty face)
(I always wondered about that scar)
(You look...bountiful)
Tumbling over me
Burying me
I turn my back to it
Cross my arms over my chest
Pressing fingertips into ribs
Until it hurts more than the words
Pushing them back where they came from
Knowing they will only rise again
Next time I'm brave