your body like you will be given another?
As if it were temporary. You starve it, you let anyone touch
it, you berate it, tell it that it should be completely
different. You tug at your soft flesh, wish it thinner, wish it
gone. You fall in love with those who praise the way it sighs
under their hands, but who praises the way it holds up your
weight, even when you are falling
apart?
