Thirty Something.

I sat down and counted all my physical flaws.

I think I tallied up thirty-something ways that I hated my body.

Acne scars, unusually sensitive callus-ridden feet, grandma arms

Why can’t I look like this? I wish I looked like this. I say to myself as I peruse

Hundreds of pages, filled with those ‘Tumblr girls’, you know the ones with 10,000 notes? Haha.

Funny enough, I don’t avoid the mirror

Staring obsessively to see if any scars have faded or if any rolls of fat are shrinking

Hoping to fit in my shallow perception of what beauty is

Patterned by a cruel & capitalist society

But the person in the reflection almost never changes & I lay in my bed in a state of acquiescence 

Thinking that I’ll finally accept these flaws

Only to conjure up new ways to hate myself in the morning.

 

 

 

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