They say I’m vain.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I can’t bare to look away from my reflection in case it changes the second I look away. I can’t recognise myself anymore. I am an amalgam of shapes awkwardly stacked one on top of the other in the shape of a person. Am I even a woman? Where are the lines that define my body? Do I even want them?
I am afraid. Afraid of my body in the mirror, the reflection in the shop glass. I am vain because I cannot look away. I cannot look away from the softness of my stomach. The way I will round after a meal or a cup of tea. I am only whole when I am empty. I yearn for the chasm within me to claw at me in hunger. I am only beautiful when I am empty.






















