A day of fasting
For my own type of faith
Shrinking frustratingly slowly
Don't you worry
The hunger means it's working
It's good for you
But stripping away layers of cotton and polyester
It leaves me with this
No more layers to peel back
Except my own skin
The skin thats too pale
It's uneven
Cracked
Dirty
I'm a tiger without it's stripes
The bones of my hips should emerge like rain in the fall
They hide away
Almond eyes that are too small
Thigh or sky?
The same size
With matching hues when veins get too close to the surface
My eyelashes are spider legs and my cheeks are moon crevices
This isn't right
It can't be
This isn't right
There's too much curve
Too much
Too much
Too much
But yet not enough
Too big and Too small
I'll take a knife as dull as my eyes
Sharpen it on the pages of a magazine
Take it to the mirror
Grind it up and sand down my harsh edges
Be smooth
Take it to my skin
Ribbons and ribbons
Crimson crescents
Straight and perfect
A perfect blemish
Lines and lines and lines
Stinging showers to wash away the instant regrets
But at least the little tiger has her stripes
Yet they remain unseen
Cloaked behind layers of snow that hide wintery hills
Nothing is to be seen
Even though the clothes make it too warm
Though others too close to oneself prance exposed
Showing off the things you envy
You're faith is failing you
Flat and taught
Without a single thought of your precious fragility
They take it for granted
Life with an identity
With a freedom to show without repercussions
Bikinis and crop tops while you sit in a corner
Try to keep your nose in a book
Ignore the sense of panic
Fast harder
You're faith is failing you
YOU ARE READING
Forest of Stanzas
PoetryA collection of poems. Some are dark, some don't make sense, all are mine. Feel free to comment a title or prompt and I'll write one for you.
