Current mood: hungry (but not for what you’d think).


It is slightly before bedtime.
I am naked and staring into the full-length (which really shouldn't be constituted as full-length, for my form is always chopped off at the knees) mirror.

I stand.
I strike a pose.

My ruben-esque figure stares back at me (I refuse to say that other word).

I am so much more ALIVE than the (you know what) girl that I see-

I just want to feel like
I look the part.

I hate myself. If only on the outside.

I have, through the help of a well stocked kitchen, continued to maintain the roly-poly, cellulite-esque, sand baggish figure which I have come to be so comfortably uncomfortable with.

When will this end.