For the Body

Every day as I get dressed,

I find my body strangling the skin.

I could never get out of it without inhaling the last breath. 

My body is ashamed of me.

It only understands the lies of the beholder.

My body doesn't like the way I treat it.

But most days giving up on a meal seems to keep me alive.

Body dreams in my bed.

Covering all the empty space than it ever deserved.

It wanders next to me.

My body is selfish. 

It has never learnt the act of letting go.

Or maybe it just wants an apology for all those unfinished bites.

Body eats my last cookie from the jar.

I say nothing.

It takes in everything. Uninvited. 

My body turns my kitchen into a mess.

Reminds me that I look like one with those tears.

You see my body is desperate for a touch or love.

And to love it, is to love me first.

Lately, it knows I have been on my own.

Even the shadows allied my body.

It's like nobody has ever seen me without too much of skin surrounded,

the thighs or hips too widened.

I am breaking inside my body.

It tells me to love everything about it.

But I never knew how to love something back.

So my body hides inside my mouth.

The angst it has been holding is curbing down my fingers.

Every breath stinks of the skin I never loved.

Every poem I write is a reminder of its presence.

Each word is an attempt to escape from a body I could never truly respect.

Eventually, my body crawls out of my mouth. Naked. Tripping over the lost worth.

As it picks on my ashamed existence to survive, it says I'm too empty within. 

My body rendered to contain me.

It offered to stay.

Filling my void with all its space.

A perfect fit.