With reflexive shame,
I awake with tumultuous blame.
A glance down at my stomach,
Begins my heart’s plummet.
Feeling like a reprobate
For reclaiming my own fate,
Ensues the daily convulsion
Of my bodily repulsion.
With a listless sophistry,
I attempt to break the mystery,
That is mental declaration of war,
Against the form I should adore.
So, I feign to be in awe,
Of the nature that I draw,
While internally I am in throes
Awaiting a mental blow.
When I feed hand to mouth,
Knowing I was once in drouth,
I cannot seem to shake,
The feeling of profligate.
When I see women like me,
Strewn throughout TV,
I feel like an outcast thrown aside,
Because my form is too wide.
When I simply use the toilet,
I do not want to spoil it;
Desperately, I avoid the glass
That thrusts me into lower-class.
I feel entirely estranged,
To a body that has changed,
My demons, myself, and me,
A family of three.
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