i was nine years old
when i began to look at magazines
evaluate the differences
began to loathe my stomach
was cutting calories at ten
at eleven i began to run
towards a goal i would chase for almost a decade
at twelve attempted throwing up
i never could win
at thirteen
i lived off ice chips
i felt them dissolve on my tongue
and starvation never tasted so good
at fifteen
my body was not mine
i tried to kill it off
but here i am almost 20
making my sad little meals
scrolling through a blinding screen
and staring at what could never be me
detesting what i own
envying what i do not
accepting the heart wrenching truth
i cannot truly be loved
without always leaving them wanting something else
no amount of surface level compliments
no amount of pointless lust
will ever convince me
i am ever enough
