TW - ED
Filling your stomach with foods that satisfy you is almost as good as seeing the scale inch closer and closer to that double zero that your 11-year-old self used to fit in. The shadow that is cast from the imaginary "gut" that you've been hypnotized into believing is there is getting smaller for every meal skipped. There's nothing left to lose, with the exception of a few pounds, and it's completely normal to feel a bit lightheaded, But what isn't normal is the fact that you just had to snack. You ruined everything for yourself. All your progress is gone. You're back to square one.
God, you're an idiot. No one cares about how good you are at math, reading or science. They want to know if you're pretty, and you obviously aren't. Your cheeks are too chubby, your midsection is all fat, and don't even get started on your thighs. Those themselves could feed a family of six with leftovers. If only you were prettier. Better. More perfect. Maybe then, and only then, you wouldn't be so unloveable.
YOU ARE READING
poetry journal
Şiirthis will be a little dump area for all of my poetry. occasionally, there might be a few pieces from other artists i like/monologues from movies.
