A woman's view on her imperfections. |
I starve myself all day and then go on Ritz binges at midnight. I go to tanning beds year round inticing the cancerous rays into my body. I wear six pounds of make-up. Constantly trying new things, sparkles, blush, foundation, mixing, matching creams. I am severly anguished when these chemicals clog my pores. All of my clothes are ugly. Perfectly suitable but ugly. I need to go shopping. I just went last week. No matter, I need new clothes, more clothes, better clothes. I weigh 115lbs. Sometimes. Sometimes I weigh 120 lbs. I hate myself. Why did I eat those Ritz? Sometimes I weigh 109 lbs. I love myself. But I am OH so hungry. I feel sick. I should probably eat. I wear contacts to avoid glasses. They hurt my eyes, dry them out. I wear glasses. I am being smart and avoiding my eyes being dry. I am ugly. I am putrid. I'd rather have dry eyes. I'm too short. I wear heels. They hurt my feet. I suffer willingly. You ask why. You ask why do I torture myself the way I do? You ask me this as you stare at the bikini clad teenager walking down the street. You ask why I trouble myself with contacts, as you stare into the depths of my eyes, which only now you can see clearly. You ask why I wear make-up, but flirt with me when I do. You ask why we make love with the lights turned off after we have watched a movie, with stick-thin models showing off massive breasts. You ask why. And I wonder why you don't already know. |