will the day ever come
where i cease to scowl at my reflection?
where i can say with my full chest
that i am content?
i am afraid
this day will never come
as long as i live in this horrid shell
the photographs i analyze
they boil inside my brain
their plastic skin
and thin limbs
perfection brewed in a cup
why not me?
why not me?
why not me?
enough to be an object of desire
wanted for so long
but never sufficient
for them to stay
no matter how much i scrape my skin
or starve my bones
i will always miss the mark
