Seeing that number on a scale,
The digits make my blood run cold.
Seeing those numbers, the numbers that define me, I go pale.
And my god, is my face ever starting to look old.
"You look good!" They tell me, I know they lie.
They're just trying to save me from being so full of sorrow,
But I won't stop until the day I can look at my thigh
And say how "these shorts will look so cute tomorrow!"
It started as nothing more than a simple diet,
But now watching as the numbers decrease, I grow addicted.
And though I may never have a head where the voices are quiet,
At least I'll be pretty one day, for that, I am optimistic.
YOU ARE READING
Journey
PuisiA poetry book written my me, as I heal from traumas, breakups, ed's, depression, family problems and pretty much everything else that someone in a midlife crisis deals with. There will be parts that are just me speaking directly to you in a bibliog...
