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Let me eat

Let me eat

Summer Green

 

Why must my body melt before my own eyes

Why must it twist and distort like those shitty tissue fish you get in Christmas crackers

Why must it, except with less grace and confidence and more of a painful confluence between self-loathing and a love of beautiful clothing that just sits wrong

Why must circular circus mirrors comfort me more than my own fingers, because they bend my body and so my brain can refrain from doing so itself

Why must I lust to be long and long to be lusted for and thirst to be less hungry

Why must my brain prioritise deception over giving love to her who walks and runs and breathes and embraces for me

Why must I glare in the passing reflection of the train and thank it for not showing me my perception because I don’t need to reflect on my Self today

Why must I ache for reassurance that they too tear their skin with their own mind’s teeth

and that they are too aware that they are too unkind to themselves

and to each other 

and to their own Kintsugi bodies.




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