The Weight Of My Own Shadow β A Poem
I need to be down forty pounds by Decemberβs cold breath, to stand before him, as light as a snowflake's death. A vision I chase, a shadow of might, Where his arms wonβt falter, and his touch feels right.
I ache to shed the weight that drowns my form, To vanish beneath the fabric, where shame is born. When he holds me, I want him to touch only my delicate bones, Not wrestle with flesh that stubbornly grown.
I dream of being like those girls in the blinding light, Small and delicate, pure in their might. In social mediaβs realm, where their bodies gleam, I long to be dainty, to live this frail dream.
Yet here I am, wrapped in these layers too vast, Each garment a shroud, a reminder of my past. βIβm tired of being the βfat friend,ββ I wail, Each sneer, each glance, a dagger that prevails.
In the mirror, I see a grotesque reflection, A body in torment, devoid of affection. I wish to be βdainty and feminine,β so refined, To escape this form that haunts my mind.
βMaybe if I were prettier, people would stay,β My heart is a prison where hope fades away. βIf I were slimmer, would love come my way?β But the reflection sneers, a mockery of day.
Iβm worn from hiding beneath fabrics too wide, From concealing my shame, my sorrow, my pride. βExhausted from not being approached,β my spirit is torn, Of clothes that donβt fit, of dreams left forlorn.
My motherβs whispers cut deep, a relentless ache, βToo big for those shirts,β each word a stake. Each of her words penetrating my frail heart, god why does she have to make all of this so hard? Each layer I wear is a shroud of despair, A veil of self-loathing, heavy as air.
βAren't you too big for those shirts?β they hiss, As if my worth can be quantified by this. Despite my attempts to blend into the grey, Iβm lost in a storm where self-worth fades away.
Body dysmorphia constantly torments me, a phantom of dread, Twisting my shape, and filling my head. I see a stranger in the mirror, a cruel, empty guise, A distorted reflection, that shatters inside.
I hate the way I look, the flesh that confines me, An endless spiral of insecurity that binds me. Each glance in the mirror is a battle, a scar, a reminder of everything I could never be, A reflection of anguish, a glimpse from afar. Why did it need to be me?
βMaybe if I was prettier, people would stay,β A thought that cuts deep, leading hope astray. In this relentless pursuit of a body so thin, I lose myself in a quest that leaves me dim.
I need to do better, but my resolve is frail, Trapped in a cycle where joy is a tale. Beneath these layers of agony and despair, thereβs a heart breaking, gasping for air.
I struggle with the weight, day after day, Dreaming of a change that slips further away. I need to shed this burden, this self-loathing weight, I wish to be someone else before itβs too late.
