The Cage of Imperfection

I am the consumer of my imperfections.

I wonder if the rolls on my neck can be stripped away.

I hear cries and regrets rising from my stomach.

I see the numbers on the scale climb higher.

I am the consumer of my imperfections.

I pretend that I am skinny and able to wear clothes that fit me.

I feel the tightness of the fabric cinching my frame.

I touch and prod my mind, holding it in chains.

I worry that it will never be enough for me.

I cry and wail until I purge the doubt.

I am the captive consumer of my imperfections.

I understand many things, oh why! Why can’t I lose weight?

I say, “Stop eating so much.”

I dream of calories; numbers stalk my slumber.

I try to claw the wall of shame; it will not shatter.

I hope one day I will escape my cage.

I am the consumer of my imperfections.